BIOGRAPHICAL ESSAYS.
• OLIVER CROMWELL.
DANIEL DE FOE.
SIR RICHARD STEELE.
CHARLES CHURCHILL.
SAMUEL FOOTE.
By JOHN FORSTER.
THIRD EDITION.
[iJSflVBESITT]
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
1860.
\Jthe right of Tranjlation is refer^ved.']
%-
p*^
LONDON :
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
PREFACE.
46, Montagu Square,
September, 18G0.
The subjoined remarks were prefixed to tlie last Edition
of this work.
" Of these Biographical Essays, three have been
' published in the Edinburgh Review, and two in the
* Quarterly Revieio ; but all, as they are now printed,
* have received careful revision, and, excepting only the
' first, large additions. Not for this should I have pre-
^ sumed, however, to give them a form less dependent,
* and more accessible, than that of the distinguished
' periodicals in which they appeared originally. A more
* numerous issue of volumes from the press is not among
' the wants of the time. But from the first these Essays
' were independent biographical studies, and not reviews
' in the ordinary sense. Such information and opinions
' as they embodied were their own ; and their design
* was to supply, in a compact original form, what it
* seemed desirable to possess, but impossible elsewhere
* to obtain, upon the particular subjects treated.
" The many additions in the present publication are
* meant to give to that design greater scope and fullness.
' They are most considerable in the memoirs of Steele
' and FooTE ; and, in the latter more especially, an attempt
' by means of them has been made to render more com-
* plete the picture of a series of comic writings, which
* are not more remarkable for character and wit than for
PREFACE.
' their vivid and humorous presentment of English vices
^ and foibles in the later half of the eighteenth century,
^ but which accidental causes may probably for ever shut
' out from the place they might have claimed to occupy
' in the literature of England. ''
To this I have simply now to add that the book has
undergone further revision; and that I have embodied
h). the memoir of De Foe some facts derived from family
papers obtained by me since the last edition appeared,
and one letter, hitherto unprinted, written by De Foe
himself. I am also able to subjoin, in this place, availing
myself of the permission kindly afforded by their possessor,
the two additional letters, also original, to which I have
referred in that memoir, and which, brief as they are,
form no unwelcome contribution to the very few existing
specimens of the great writer's correspondence. The
remarks at p. 112 will sufficiently explain the allusions
in them. Both his correspondent and the Mr. Kogers
of whom mention is made, appear to be connected
with the business of publishing ; and the special matters
in which he desires their agency are his Thoughts on
the late Victory, published as his Hymn to Victory, and
his Jure Bivino. He had only been a few weeks out of
prison when the notes were written, yet already he had
been reported (in connection with an article in his Review
for which Admiral Rooke had threatened to prosecute
him) as flying from his recognizances ; and it is to the
latter incident, not to the London Grazette advertisement,
he refers in the second note.
" S'", — I had yo'' obligeing Letter, for w^^, tho' its now
" very Late, I presume to give you my Sincere Thanks.
" 1 had Given Mr. Rogers over, and laiew not how
PREFACE. V
^' matters were w*'^ him ; supposing lie was marry 'd and
" had forgot his friends, or something else was befallen
"him.
" This made me give you y^ Trouble of a Pcell yester-
" day, by the Carryer, in w'^'^ are 50 books, w'^'' you will
" find are a few Thoughts on y^ late Yictory : if you
" please to Let him have them, or any Friends that
'' Desire y™. If they are too many, he may retume
" what he mislikes.
" I can not Enlarge, but you'l see, by y^ Enclos'd,
" what wonderfull Things God is Doeing in y^ World; of
" w^^ I could not forbear putting you to y^ Charge, that
" you might let our friends have y^ first of it. 'Tis
" midnight. I hope you will Excuse y^ hast.
" I am, S"-,
" Yo"" sincere Friend [and] Serv^
" De Foe.
'' Ultim" Aug^ 1704,
" Addressed
*' To Mr. Sam'^^^ Elisha,
"in
'' Shrewsbury."
" S'', — I have yo^ kind Letter, and had answerd it
" sooner but I have been out of Town for above 3 weeks.
" What Treatm'^ I have had since I have been abroad,
" you will see in y^ Revieio where I have been oblig'd to
" vindicate my self by an advertisement ; and had not y«
'^ maHce of people reported me fled from justice, w^*^ made
" me think it necessary to come up and sho' my self, I
" dont kno' but I might have given you a short visit.
" I am Grlad to hear you had ye Hymns, and thank
" your acceptance of the single one ; but I must owne
'' myself sorry Mr. Rogers is leaving you.
" I Thank you for yo^' kind proposall ; but tho* I have
" a Family Large Enough, would not have my useless
" acquaintance Burthensome to my Friends ; Especially
'* you, of whom I have been capable to meritt very
" Little.
" I rejoyce that I shall see you in Town and wish you
vi PREFACE.
*' a good journey up. I beg y^ favour of you to remind
'' Mr. Rogers of Jure DivinOf w^^^ now Draws near
" putting forward.
" I am, S^
" Yo»- Oblig'd Humble Serv*.
DeF.
*' Octo¥ 11, 1704."
ERRATA.
P. 112. The difference of date in the two letters is "a month," not
"a year."
P. 272. ''Fitzgerald," printed in the running title at top of the page,
should be " Fitzpatrick."
ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. OLIVER CROMWELL. 1599—1658.
(From the Edinhurgh Review, Jan. 1856. With Omissions.) 1 — 55.
PAGE
Notices of Cromwell since the days of Hume .... 1
Cromwell as presented by modern writers — First view of his cha-
racter— Defeat and disappointment 2
Second view — Same results from other causes — Traitor to Liberty
not Royalty . 3
Third view — Complete type of the Puritan Rebellion . . . 4
Cromwell according to Mr. Carlyle — His temporal and spiritual
victories — M. Guizot's version ..... 5
Cromwell's character coloured by Guizot's political experiences
— A great and successful but unscrupulous man — Exciter
and chastiser of Revolution — Destroyer and architect of
Government ......... 6
-"^Causes of his failure — Foundations of his greatness set upon
Disorder ......... 7
How a book may be spoiled by translation — Example . . . 8
Style extinguished — Delicacies of utterance destroyed . . 9
Temptation of high-sounding sentences — Meanings and sense
translated 10
Intention missed — Subtleties dropped 11
Felicities and infelicities of idiom . . . , . . 12
Parallel passages from Text and Translation — Warning to foreign
writers .......... 13
Character of M. Guizot's History — Reflection of his own cha-
racter— Influences from recent events . . . . . 14
Early life of M. Guizot — First literary labours — Professor of
Modern History at the age of 24 . . . . . 15
His opinions — Writings on Representative Government and
the English Revolution— The Three Days . . . . 16
Tiii CONTENTS.
Oliver Cromwell. page
Guizot's career as Minister — Fall of Frencli monarchy — Dis-
likes and calumnies of French republicans . . .17
The Old Republicans of England — Their character and motives 18
Under what conditions a Republic honours and serves humanity
— M. Guizot not unjust to English republicanism . . 19
A visit to Mr. John Milton's lodging — Cromwell's personal re-
lations with Milton 20
The Republican Council of State — Eminent members — Causes
conspiring to its fall 21
Cromwell's seizure of power — Secret of the governing art— In-
stinct of the drift of the People . . . . . . 22
Cardinal de Retz and Cromwell — Vane's secret mission to France 23
Ambition with a plan and without — Fixity of men's designs
and Uncertainty of their destiny — The interval between . 24
Cromwell's early life — Quiet performance of his duties — Doing
thoroughly what he has to do — Picture of him in D' Ewes' s
MS 25
His Experience in the Field — Organisation of his Ironsides —
Duty of directing and governing men .... 26
Rising to all occasions — Assuming still his natural place — Glory
of the country reflected in his 27
Readiness for the hour and no restlessness beyond — The time
when one mounts highest . . . . . .28
M. Guizot's imperfect recognition of Religious Element in
English Revolution — His view of purely worldly character
of Protectorate 29
Oliver Protector — The basis of his government — His plan for a
Succession . . , 30
The Protector's real model — The old Hebrew Judges — His piety
not statecraft 31
One mind in all his letters — At St. Ives and in Whitehall his
tone the same ........ 32
Proofs of a profound sincerity— Equally removed from hypocrisy
and fanaticism ......... 33
Toleration of differences in religion — His project of a Synod to
bring sects into agreement— Preachei'S of Covenant over-
thrown as he had overthrown its Army — Sublime warning
to the Presbytery . . . . . . . .34
A scene in Ely Cathedral — Intercession with a Royalist for
liberty of conscience . . * 35
Inseparability of Temporal and Spiritual things — Thoughts of a
Hero — The same in triumph and in peril . . . .36
After Worcester and before Dunbar— The Pillar of Fire — Ac-
counts by Officers of his Household . . . . . 37
A Velasquez portrait in words —General estimate by M. Guizot
— Contention with the Parliament 38
Victor in the duel — Cromwell's foreign policy — Light thrown
upon it by M. Guizot 39
CONTENTS. ix
Oliver Cromicell. page
Rivalries of De Retz and Mazarin for Cromweirs favour — His
attitude 40
JMazarin no match for Cromwell — Cardinal and Coadjutor out-
witted 41
Cromwell's alliances — France and Spain^Why France was pre-
ferred 42
Mazarin no match for Oliver — Characteristic presents — Tapestry,
wine, and Barbary horses — Pure Cornish tin . . . 43
Ideas of foreign policy — "Whitelock's Embassy to Sweden — The
project for a Council of all Protestant Communions . . 44
Execution of the Portuguese Ambassador's brother — Prince of
Conde's overtures to Cromwell 45
Seizure of Jamaica — Great Treaty with France —Admiration of
young Louis XIV 46
Homage of Foreign Sovereigns — Old Princes and Kings humbled
before Cromwell 47
Failure of Parliaments of Protectorate — Cromwell's Major-
Generals .48
Comedy of Kingship— Its unwelcome fifth act — Why Protec-
torate must close 49
Patronage of literature and learned men — Cromwell's gratitude
for Waller's panegyric . . . . . . .50
His enjoyment of cheerful recreation — His pipe and game at
crambo — Protectorate Court Circular 51
Alleged domestic infidelities a Royalist slander— Correspondence
with his wife — Cromwell's five sons — Information respecting
them 52
The school at Felsted — Death-bed of Cromwell — Affecting refer-
ence to his eldest son . . . . . . . 53
The Register of Burials in Felsted ])arish church — One memora-
ble Entry there 54
* * Vir honorandus " — What might have been if Robert Crom-
well had lived 55
II. DANIEL DE FOE. 1661—1731.
(From the Edinburgh Review, Oct. 1845. With Additions.) 57 — 158.
Charles II. 1661—1685.
An example of Things that Ought to have Succeeded — A solitary
Life and a solitary Fame 57
Mr. Pepys and his wife in Whitehall Gardens — Sheldon and Cla-
rendon presiding over Chui'ch and State . . . . 58
Indulgence to Dissenters in Year of Dutch War — Mr. James Foe
of Cripplegate ........ 59
School-days of Daniel Foe— A boxing English boy . . . 60
X CONTENTS.
Daniel De Foe. page
Educated in English as well as in dead and in foreign Languages
—The old 131ind Schoolmaster of Bunhill-fields . . 61
The Popish Plot — Two Memorable Words first heard — Whigs
and Tories — Titus Gates 62
Young Daniel's opinions of the Plot — A Protestant Flail . . 63
The Monument carried off by six Frenchmen — Lying like Truth
— A Grenius for homely Fiction — Daniel Foe, freeman,
liveryman, and hose-factor ....... 64
The Close of Charles IPs reign — Seven eventful years — Visit of
William of Orange ....... 65
Russell's execution — Charles the Second toying with his Concu-
bines— Death ....... . . QQ
James IL 1685—1689.
Greetings from Churchmen and Lawyers — Passive Obedience and
Infallibility of Kings QQ
Landing of Monmouth — Daniel Foe "Out" with the Rebels —
Escapes over Sea, and returns, Daniel De Foe . . . 67
James IPs Claim to a Dispensing Power — Character of the King
— His overmastering Passion . . . . . .68
De Foe's denunciation of Court time-servers — Dissenters disclaim
him 69
Art of thinking and standing Alone — The landing at Torbay —
Flight of James — Debates of the Convention — De Foe at
Guildhall 70
William IIL 1689—1702.
A Prince who could stand Alone — De Foe's Celebrations of
William — Hero-worship 71
Marriage — Reverses in Trade — Flight from London . . .72
Writing against the Iniquities of Whitefriars and the Mint —
In Bristol — The Sunday Gentleman 73
Essay on Projects — A Tradition of the Landlord of the Red
Lion . 74
Reforms suggested in Banking, Public Roads, Insurance, Friendly
Societies and Savings Banks, and Treatment of Lunatics . 75
Scenes in London — Treachery on all Sides — Proposed Academy
of Letters 76
De Foe's other suggested Reforms — Military College — Abolition
of Imprisonment — College for Education of Women — Ar-
rangement with Creditors — Subsequent Payments in full . 77
Refuses to leave England — Public Employment — Made Account-
ant to Commissioners of Glass Duty — His Works at Til-
bury 78
His Sailing-boat on the Thames — The most Unpopular Man in
England — The Man who saved England . . . . 79
CONTENTS. xi
Daniel Be Foe. page
De Foe's Appeal against "William Ill's Assailants — The noblest
of Services, Low Rewarded 80
Character of the Great King — Constitutional Government not an
easy Problem to Solve 81
His Whig and his Tory Assailants — A Difference — De Foe's early
Political Writings 82
Interview between William and De Foe —Personal aspects of the
Men 83
Generous Enmity — De Foe and Dryden — Swift's lesson in eating
Asparagus 84
Principles of Revolution taking root — Discussion of Moral Ques-
tions— De Foe's Essay on the Poor . . . . . 85
Justice's Justice — Occasional Conformity — Offence to Dissenters 86
Condition of the Stage — Charles II's Court too refined for such
Plays as Hamlet— Collier and Burnet — De Foe's attack . 87
Fugitive Verses — Mi-. Tutchin's Poem of the Foreigners— The
True Born Englishman . . . . . . .88
William's need of Service — Service rendered by De Foe — An
Appeal to the Common People . . . . . . 89
Popularity of the True Born Englishman — De Foe sent for to
the Palace — A great Question mooted . . . .90
De Foe's famous Letter upon Government — Popular Element in
the English Constitution — Original Right and Delegated
Power 91
Robert Harley's first beginnings — A Creature of the Revolution
— House of Commons tact ... ... 92
Kentish Petition and Legion Memorial — Impeachment of Whig
Lords — Jonathan Swift's Pamphlet — De Foe's Scheme for
Trade presented to William . . . . . . 93
Death of the King— Mock Mourners — De Foe's real grief . . 94
Anne. 1702—1714.
Character of the Queen — Godolphin and Marlborough promoted 95
High Church prospects — A Tantivy Halloo — Bill against Occa-
sional Conformity — Whig and Tory Cats . ... 96
Cowardice of Dissenters — Position of De Foe—Sacheverell's
Bloody Flag — The Shortest Way with Dissenters published 97
Masterpiece of Serious Irony — Its Effect — Clamour for the Au-
thor's name — Folly of Dissenters . . . . .98
Reward offered for Apprehension of De Foe — Proclamation in
the London Gazette .... ... 99
Surrenders himself — His Trial at Old Bailey — Attorney- General
Harcourt's Speech 100
Verdict of Guilty— Sentenced to Newgate and the Pillory — What
the Pillory then was 101
A Hymn to the Hieroglyphic State Machine— De Foe's sentence
Carried out, in CornhiU, in Cheapsidj, and at Temple Bar 102
xii CONTENTS.
Daniel De Foe. page
How the Populace behaved — Punishment turned into Ovation—
Pope's ungenerous allusion 103
De Foe in Newgate — Gaol experiences — Restlessness of Martyr-
dom 104
Portrait of De Foe — Prison Writings — His Account of the Great
Storm . • 105
His opinions as to Literary Copyright — Establishment of his
Review .......... 106
Days of Publication — Uninterrupted continuance for Nine Years
— Written solely by De Foe 107
Piracies of the Review — Originality of its plan — Subjects dis-
cussed in it . . . . . . . . . 108
The Scandalous Club — Wives and Husbands — Essays on Trade —
First sprightly runnings of Tatlers and Spectators . .109
De Foe for the Citizen Classes, Steele and Addison for the Wits
— Changes in the Government 110
Robert Harley in Office — Ascertaining how far the People will
bear — Trimming between parties — Faith in Parliament and
the Press — Message to De Foe . . . . .111
Her Majesty interests herself for Mr. De Foe — Release from
Newgate — Victory of Blenheim — De Foe's Hymn . . 112
His Letters to Halifax — De Foe sent for — Use of Queen's name . 113
Taken to Court to kiss hands — Jonathan and Harley — Secret
Service — Preparations for Travel . . . . .114
Return to England — A General Election — De Foe among the
Electors 115
Popularity of his Writings — Fury of his Assailants — De Foe and
the Devil at leap frog 116
John Dunton's Tribute — Elections favourable to Whigs — Excite-
ment of the High Flyers — Inveteracy against De Foe . . 117
Lord Haversham's attack — De Foe's reply — Works on Trade,
Tolei-ation, and the Colonies — His Giving Alms no Charity . 118
His Scheme for better and more humane Regulation of Mad-
houses—His Jure Divino . . ... 119
Opinions as to Apparitions — On Spiritual Influences and Commu-
nications with Visible World 120
His True History of Mrs. Veal — A Ghost called from the Grave
to make a Dull Book sell 121
A gossip upon Death by the Spirit of an Exciseman's housekeeper
—Tittle Tattle from the Other World . . • . . 122
Scottish Union — De Foe's interview with the Queen — Appointed
Secretai-y to English Commissioners .... 123
De Foe in Scotland — His Eulogy on the Scotch — Histoiy of the
Union — Its effects . . 124
Bedchamber Intrigues — Backstairs visits — Abigail Masham sus-
; pended and Robert Harley dismissed . . . .125
CONTENTS. xiii
Daniel Be Foe. page
Triumph of Duchess of Marlborough — Whig Administration made
more Whiggish— Wits at Will's Coffee-house — The Joke
against Partridge 126
Swift's attack on De Foe — De Foe's exertions for Men of Letters
— Services to the Ministry 127
Interview with Lord Treasurer Godolphin — Gratitude to Harley
— Again the High Church Trumpet . . . . . 128
De Foe again attacks both Extremes — His hint to such Impar-
tial Writers — Petty Persecutions of him . . . .129
Instances from Luttrell's Diary — Reappearance of Sacheverell —
His Impeachment resolved upon . . . . . . 130
Exultation of Harley — Trial of Sacheverell — Overthrow of the
Ministry 131
Exit Godolphin and enter Harley — Last Administration of Queen
Anne — Swift and the new Lord Treasurer . . . . 132
De Foe sent for — Grounds of his Conditional support stated —
Principles of the Revolution ...... 133
Hai'ley's Whig tendencies — Principles and Persons — The Ex-
aminer and the Review 134
Reply to Swift — Protest against Personalities in Literature —
Courage to Fight a rascal but not to Call him one . .135
De Foe's Appeal against his Assailants — Charge of writing for
Place 136
Debtor and Creditor account with Harley's Administration — A
wise old Fox and a tamed Badger 137
De Foe's arguments for Free Trade — Opposes the Whig attempt
to prohibit Trade with France — Questions on which he
opposed the Harley Administration 138
Popish doctrines in English Church — Pamphlets against the
Pretender 139
De Foe again thrown into Newgate — Released by Bolingbroke —
Close of the Review 140
George I and George II. 1714 — 1731.
Fall of Oxford and Bolingbroke — The Whigs fixed in power — •
De Foe confuted by the ingenious Mr. Addison — Whig
rewards — The reward of De Foe 141
Example of his Life — Type of the great Middle-Class English
Character — A question for posterity — The world Without
and Within 142
De Foe's last Political Essay — De Foe's Moral and Religious
Writings — Family Instructor, Religious Courtship, and
History of the Devil 143
Complete Tradesman and Strictures on London Life — Advocates
a Metropolitan University, Foundling Hospital, and better
System of Police — Attacks Beggars' Opera . . .144
Niched into the Duaciad — Pope's after regrets — Begins to write
Fiction in 58th year of his age 145
iv CONTENTS.
Daniel De Foe. page
Kobinson Crusoe — Type of his own Solitudes and Strange Sur-
prising Adventures . . , . . . .146
History of the Plague — Moll Flanders, Colonel Jack, and
Roxana 147
Father of an Illustrious Family — What English Novelists owe to
De Foe 148
His Residence at Newington — His Daughters — Mr. Henry Baker 149
A Family Picture — Visit of Enthusiasts from New World . . 150
Proposal for Youngest Daughter — Trouble of De Foe — Dowry
he will give her 151
Disputes over Marriage Settlements — A too prudent lover — Pro-
perty of De Foe 152
The Marriage — De Foe's Letter on parting with his Daughter . 153
His Son-in-law — His acts of Charity — Sudden Reverse . .154
Affecting Letter to his Printer — Labours, anxieties, and ill-re-
quited toil . 155
Unnatural conduct of his Son — Fate of the last Lineal Descend-
ant of a (xreat English Writer — A Subscription and its
result .......... 156
De Foe's last Letter — Final Message to his Children— Te Deum
Laudamus 157
Death of Daniel De Foe 158
in. SIR RICHARD STEELE. 1675—1729.
(From the Quarterly Review, 1855. With Additions.) 159 — 253
Fielding's laugh at Tickell's Depreciation of Steele for Addison —
Ghosts of the friends 159
The two leading Essayists of England — What Addison foretold —
Looking at the same figure when Pleased, and when Angry . 160
Macaulay's character of Steele — Addison's alleged Scorn — Dis-
puted—Ordinary source of Disagreement between the
friends .......... 161
Swift's testimony to equality of relations between Steele and
Addison 162
Steele's own account of their Estrangements — Plunging into the
torrent, and Waiting on the brink — Differences of tempera-
ment— How Mr. All worthy made enemies . . .163
Addison misrepresented — Poor Dick — Evil effects of Compassion 164
Best way to Cry a man down — Condescensions of praise —
Captain Plume and Captain Steele 165
Virtues disguised Vices — Vices disguised Virtues — Opinions of
Steele by Pope, Young, and Lady Mary Montagu . .166
CONTENTS. XV
Sir Richard Steele. page
Each to be judged by himself — No diminution to Steele not to be
Addison, nor to Addison not to be Steele . . . . 167
The Levelling circumstance in all characters — Danger of putting
it forward — Privacies denied to Public men . . . 168
Depreciation of Steele's genius — Alleged inability to see Conse-
quences of his own Project — Appointment of Gazetteer . 169
Macaulay's account of Tatler before Addison joined it — No real
worth until then . . . . . . . . .170
The Facts stated — Conclusive evidence from the papers them-
selves .......... 171
The First Eighty Tatlers — Their freshness and originality . . 172
Criticism of Shakespeare — Experiences for Life as well as Rules
for Taste — Advice to Tragic Poets — Moral Lessons from
Books and Plays 173
Steele first raises again the Poet of Paradise — Gallantry and
Refinement 174
Deficiencies in Female Education — True and false Accomplish-
ments— Eulogy on Lady Elizabeth Hastings . . . . 175
Modes of Dying— A hint for Addison — Characters in Steele's
Tatlers — Wags of Wealth — The Chaplain-Postilion — Uses
of a Snuff-box — The Pious Freethinker . . . .176
A Shadow of good Intentions — Mrs. Jenny Distaff — Will Dactyle
— Senecio — Will Courtly — Sophronius — Jack Dimple . . 177
Sprightly father of the English Essay— At First as to the Last
— Enlivening Morality with Wit, and tempering Wit with
Morality 178
Getting Wisdom out of Trifles — Bringing Philosophy out of closets
and libraries into clubs and coffee-houses . . . . 179
Steele's distinction from other wits and humourists — A some-
thing Independent of Authorship — The Man delightful . 180
On Vulgarity — Not the condition in life, but the sentiments in
that condition — Insolence of the Wealthy in determining a
man's Character by his Circumstances . . . .181
The only true distinctions — Rules of breeding — Entertaining as
if a Guest, and Doing good offices as if Receiving them . . 182
Value of Reality beyond Appearance — Taking care Ourselves of
our wisdom and virtue — Mistakes of the vain and proud —
Folly of asking What the World will Say . . . .183
Same laws for Little and Great — A lesson from the Stage —
Pope and Betterton — The actors of our youth . . . 184
Mr. Bickerstaff's visit to Oxford — Macaulay's view of Steele's
writings — " A pleasant small Drink " kept too long . 185
Vicissitudes to which Old Reputations are subject — Estimated
value of a single Spectator in Sam Johnson's time . . 186
Steele's Fame not to be surrendered even to Macaulay's — Reputa-
tions made classical by Time — Their assailants most in
peril — Steele's affection for Addison . . . . . 187
xvi CONTENTS.
Sir Richard Steele. page
Self-depi*eciation — The respect due to a noble Modesty — Question
put iu issue by Macaulay 188
A Judgment challenged— Statue flung down, but Features unde-
faced— Steele's pathos and refinement of feeling — First pure
prose story-teller in the language — Circulating Libraries
established 189
A domestic interior painted by Steele— Mr. B's courtship and
marriage ......... 190
Mr. B's children — Isaac Bickerstaft's Godson — Married life and
Bachelor life 191
Fleeting tenure of This world's happiness — A Death-bed Scene
— Affecting Picture . . . . . . .192
Little Novels by Steele — Stories in the Tatler — On Untimely
Deaths 193
Character of Addison as Ignotus — Definition of a fine gentleman
• — Toleration of one another's faults — Arts of This life
made advances to the Next . . . . . .194
Old Dick Reptile— Members of the Trumpet Club . . . 195
Easy Friends — A great necessity to Men of Small Fortunes —
Pride in its humbler varieties — An unfading Portrait — An
Insignificant Fellow, but exceeding Grracious . . .196
The Professed Wag — Everything seen in its lowest aspect —
False applause and false detraction . . . . . 197
On Impudence — On over-easiness in Temper — The crafty old
Cit — Tom Spindle — The Shire-lane pastrycook . . .198
Absurdities in Education for the Middle Class — The Country
Squire setting up for Man of the Town . . . . . 199
The Censorious Lady of Quality — Married Prudes — Jenny Distaff
and her Brother — The Sisters and the pair of Striped Garters
— The Cobbler of Ludgate Hill — A hint for Statesmen out of
business — Ponderous politician but small philosopher , 200
Maltreatment of Authors — The voyage hazardous, the gains
doubtful — Should Privateers have licence to plunder ? . . 201
Character of the Private Soldier — Great Courage and Small
Hopes — Anticipation of the Letters of heroes of Alma and
Inkermann 202
Steele's kind heart and just philosophy — Actual Experiences —
Human habits always changing — Unchanging habits of
lesser creatures ........ 203
A Picture of Morning — Touching retrospect .... 204
Earliest Recollection and Earliest Grief 205
Birth and School days of Richard Steele — At the Charter House
— His most important Acquisition there .... 205
Friendship with Joseph Addison — Visits to Addison's father,
the Dean of Lichfield — At Merton, in Oxford . . . . 206
CONTENTS. xvii
Sir Richard Steele. pass
A Comedy burnt — Tatler's philosophy in the rough — Enlists in
the Guards — Becomes Captain Steele . . . .207
Writes the Christian Hero — Growing conscious of his powers 208
Objects of his book — Inadequacy of Heathen Morality — Putting
life Oflf till to-morrow — Not living Now — Characters of
Heathen Antiquity — A contrast from the Bible . . . 209
The Sermon on the Mount — Inattention to its teaching — Fore-
shadowing of the Tatler — Not Author but Companion . 210
Dedication to Lord Cutts — Exit Soldier, Enter Wit— With Con-
greve at the St. James's Coffee-house . . . . 211
His first Comedy — Success of the Funeral — The ungrateful
undertaker's 'man — The more he gets, the gladder he
looks — Addison's return from Italy — The Kit-Katt Club . 212
Noctes Coenseque Deorum — Addison's Conversation — Steele's
happy Criticism of plays and actors — Comparisons of Cibber
and Wilkes, of Bullock and Penkethman . . . . 213
The Tender Husband played — Addison contributes to it — Writes
the Prologue and receives the Dedication . . . .214
Whig Prospects brightening — Literattire taking a stronger tone
— Men of Letters sought out by Ministers , . . . 215
A Scene in St. James's Coffee-house— A Clergyman of remark-
able appearance — Encounter with a booted Squire - .216
Introduction of Steele and Addison to Swift — Charles Fox's
theory about him — Addison's eulogy upon him — His won-
derful Social Charm . . . . . . ..217
The Triumvirate — Addison's Rosamund, and its failure — Steele's
Lying Lover, its Catastrophe and the cause thereof — Harley
makes Steele Gazetteer — Addison Under-Secretary . .218
Harley quits ofl&ce — Early death of Steele's first wife — Marries
again — Correspondence with second wife — 400 Private letters
made Public 219
Domestic Revelations — Courting days — The lady's jealousy of
Addison 220
Settlements at the Marriage — Income over-estimated — Town and
country houses — Addison's loan of a thousand pounds —
Repaid and renewed — Establishment at Hampton Court . 221
Large expenses and Small needs — Jacob TouEon discounting a
bill — Days and Nights with Addison 222
Letters to Prue — Domestic attentions and troubles — Character
of Mrs. Richard Steele— A first year of Wedded Life . . 223
Penalty of not conforming to common habits — A husband's
excuses — Hours and Minutes of absence accounted for —
As many letters as posts in the day 224
Unabashed Sir Bashful — Caprices of Prue — Unfounded com-
plaints— Drawbacks from Beauty ... . 225
Differences pushed into quarrels — A peevish beauty rebuked —
What a woman's Glory should be — Domestic explosion —
Mrs. Steele's contrition . . . . . . ^ 226
h
xvifi CONTENTS.
Sir Richard Steele. page
The wits at Halifax's — Drinking to Prue and her school-fellow —
Intimacies with Swift — The joke against Partridge — Mr.
Isaac Bickerstaflf 227
The joke kept up — Confusion and troubles of Mr. Partridge —
Steele's distress — An Execution for rent .... 228
Addison appointed Irish Secretary — Steele a candidate for office
— Farewell supper — Godfather Addison . . . . 229
First Number of the Tatler — Swift probably in the secret —
Addison not consulted — Mode of publication — Postage . 230
Extraordinary popularity — Accounted for by Gay — Not Sub-
serving the vices, but Correcting them — Diffusing the
Graces of Literature — Bitter drop in the cup . . . 231
Weakness of Ministry — Eeturn of Addison — Whig anxieties to
secure Swift 232
The Sacheverell trial — Whigs falling — Steele made Commissioner
of Stamps — Warnings disregarded — Swift in London —
Harley and St. John in Office — The Gazette taken from
Steele 233
Swift leaves the Whigs — Keeps up intercourse with Whig friends
— Officiates at Christening at St. James's Coffee-house —
Requested by Harley not to write for Steele , . . 234
Last Number of the Tatler — Steele's interview with Harley —
First Number of the Spectator 235
Swift's opinion of Spectator — Steele's Sketches for the Coverley
Papers 236
Equal participation with Addison — The Editorship — Traditions
of the Printing Office 237
Steele's leading papers particularised — Suggestion of the Jealous
Wife— Dick Eastcourt 238
Wonderful Success — Sale of the Numbers — Effect of Boling-
broke's Stamp — Last Number of Spectator— First Number
of Guardian — Mr. Pope contributes 239
Steele's quarrel with Swift — Handsome retort — Steele's dispute
about Things — Swift's about Persons .... 240
Steele surrenders Commissionership of Stamps and enters House
of Commons — Publication of the Crisis . . . . 241
Steele's Defence at Bar of the House — Expelled from the House
— Death of the Queen— Fall of Oxford and Bolingbroke
— Whig appointments 242
Steele's office in the Theatre Royal — Gratitude of the Players —
Politicians less grateful — Member for Boroughbridge . . 243
Oratory in the House of Commons — Steele characterises it —
Views of public questions — Opposition to High Church
party . . . 244
Conduct in the House — On Schism Bill — Toleration to Catholics
— Mercy to Jacobites — South Sea Scheme — Walpole's propo-
sition on the Debt — Sunderland's Peerage Bill — Deprived of
his Drury Lane appointment . . . . . . 245
CONTENTS.
Sir Richard Steele.
Complaint to his wife — Interceding for South Sea Directors —
Dull Mr. William Whiston 246
Treatment of Steele by the Whigs — Service in times of Danger
forgotten — Apologue of Husbandman and Bridge . . . 247
Everyone^s Friend but his own — Social Impressions against
Moral Resolutions — No Example of Improvidence for others 248
Bishop Hoadly — At a Whig Festivity with Steele — Visiting at
Blenheim — Amateur play — Stories of Steele told to John-
son— A Pamphlet written for a Dinner . . . . 249
Bailiffs in Livery — Addison's Enforcement of Steele's Bond —
Probable explanation — Improbable suggestions — Entertain-
ment in York Buildings 250
Addison Secretary of State — Steele dining with him — Appointed
Commissioner of Scotch Forfeited Estates — His later mar-
ried life — Boys and Girls — Alternate Sunshine and Storm
with Prue — Mistress Moll and Madam Betty, Eugene and
Dick 251
Last letters to Prue— Her death — His Later public life — Comedy
of the Conscious Lovers — Difference with Addison . . 252
A Summer's Evening Scene in Wales — Steele in his Invalid
Chair— Death 253
IV. CHARLES CHURCHILL. 1731—1764.
(From the Edinburgh Review, January 1845. With Additions.) 265 — 328.
An Editor's bad example — Tendency of remarks on Individuals
— Too much either of blame or praise 255
Editorial Deficiencies — Dead hand at a Life, and not Lively at a
Note — Dr. Brown and Jeremy Bentham — Dr. Francklin's
Sophocles 256
Ambition of a young Solicitor to Edit a Satirist — A worthy Task
ill-done — Unfortunate Criticism . . . . .257
Editorial blunders — Garth and his friend Codrington — The two
Doctors William King — The two Bishops Parker — Grave
correction of a Joke by Addison — Tom Davies and T. Davis
— Premature putting to death of Churchill's brother John . 258
Self-Contradictions — Curacy in Wales — Failure in trade — Re-
pulse at Oxford — Admiration for Croly . . . . 259
Contempt for Wordsworths and Coleridges — Attacks upon Noble
Authors — Elegant extracts 260
Charles Churchill bom —Two races of men — Dryden's Cromwell
and Shaftesbury, Churchill's Wilkes and Sandwich —
Churchill's Father — Designs him for the Church . . . 261
b 2
XX CONTENTS.
Charles Churchill. page
Places him at Westminster — The Masters there— School-days and
School -fellows — Stands by Cowper now, and Cowper after-
wards by him — Colman, Cumberland, and Warren Hast-
ings . . • 262
Small poets at Westminster — Taggers of verse increasing and
multiplying — A Poetical Murrain — A Profession ill-chosen 263
Honours at School — Imprudent Marriage — Rejection at Oxford
— Domestic disagreements 264
Entered at Trinity in Cambridge — Qualifying for Orders — Visit
to London — Ordained 265
Curate of Rainham — Forty Pounds a-year — Opens a school —
Death of his father — Elected Curate of St. John's in West-
minster— Teaching in a Lady's Boarding School . . . 266
In the Pulpit — Ill-success — His own admissions— His heart
never with his profession 267
His Character consistent with Itself — Alleged contradictions dis-
puted— Churchill's claim to fairer judgments . . . 268
Wish to leave the Church — Early temptations revived — Old
School-fellows established as Town wits — Result of ill-con-
considered Marriage — Ruin impending — A Friendly Hand
stretched forth 269
Determines to embark in Literature — The Bard and The Con-
clave rejected by booksellers — Both destroyed — The Rosciad
completed — Booksellers will not have it — Publishes it him-
self—A great Hit 270
The Town startled — Example of Churchill's power — A Character
without a Name 271
Full length of a Fribble — Fitzpatrick — Lawyer Wedderburne . 272
Pictures of Players — Yates, Sparks, Smith, Ross, and Mossop 273
Barry, and Quin 274
Havard and Davies — David Garrick— The Chair assigned to him 275
Satire a looking-glass for reflection of all faces but our own —
Players running about like Stricken Deer — Grieving for
their friends, not for themselves — The universal question
Who is he? — Answered by the Critical Reviewers . . 276
Churchill criticises his Critics — His Apology — Depreciation of
the Stage — Smollett fiercely attacked— Garrick rudely
warned . . 277
Description of the Strollers — Imitated by Crabbe . . .278
Garrick's fright— Smollett's disclaimer of Attack on Churchill —
Garrick's request for Lloyd's intercession — Manager and
Poet reconciled 279
Warburton's allusion to the Rosciad— Garrick's brethren of the
Stage — Attacks on the Satirist — Anti-Rosciads, Trium-
virates, Examiners, and Churchilliads — Scene in Bedford
Coffee-house 280
Foote's Lampoon — Murphy's Ode— Churchill's seat in the Drury
CONTENTS. xxi
Charles Churchill. page
Lane pit— Watched from the Stage by the actors— Fright
ofTomDavies 281
Pope's precautions against his Victims — Contrasted with
Chnrchill's — Personal Bravado — War with the Hypocrisies
carried too far 282
Remonstrances of Dean Pearce and Churchill's replies — Pa-
rishioners remonstrate, and he resigns his living — Generous
uses of newly acquired wealth 283
Epistle to Lloyd — Armstrong's attack in Day — Churchill's
answer in Night — Allusion to Pitt 284
Wilkes seeks Churchill — Character and Antecedents — Alliance
Offensive and Defensive — Violent Party-Spirit reawakened 285
Bute a Privy Councillor — Court Practices and Intrigues —
Tamperings with Elections 286
Prospects and Requisites for a Demagogue — Compact between
Wilkes and Churchill — Honesty of it on the poet's side —
Medmenham Abbey Scandals 287
Excuses and disadvantages of a Satirist — Evil influences of the
Time — Churchill's claims to Respect . . . .288
Morality of his Satire — Contrast with Hanbury Williams's Inde-
cencies and Lampoons — New fashions in Verse — Durability
of the Old 289
Publication of First Book of the Ghost — Poetical Tristram
Shandy — Poet-laureate Whitehead's fine-gentleman airs . 290
Comparative Failure in eight-syllable verse — Constantly recur-
ring necessity of rhyme — Tends to diffuseness — More suc-
cessful in Duellist — Piqued by a Subject — Bishop War-
bui-ton 291
Tribunes of the People — Doings of the Court — Pitt turned out,
and Bute Prime-Minister — Dashwood a Minister and Bubb
Dodington a Lord 292
The Briton established by Bute— The North Briton established
by WUkes— A Match to a Train 293
Churchill helps in the Explosion — Satirises the Scotch in the
Prophecy of Famine — Whig raptures . . . .294
Tory terrors — Exultation of the Satirist — A fresh Plague for
the Scotch — Tributes to the New Poem . . . . 295
Its witty and masterly exaggerations — Resemblances to Dryden
and Marvel . .296
The Highland Lass and her Lover — A Starved Scene — The Cave
of Famine ......... 297
Ingenuity of Praise — Supposing what is Not Prose to be Poetry
— Sudden Popularity — Recommended to return to Church
— Benefices in Prospect 298
Manly self-assertion— Above temptation — Not lacking prefer-
ment— Dislike of the Aristocracy ... . . 299
xxii CONTENTS.
Charles Churchill. page
Horace Walpole's picture of him — Private life — Fierce Extremes
— Resignation of Bute — Sandwich and Halifax in office . 300
No. 45 of North Briton— General Warrants for arrest of Wilkes
and Churchill — Great questions arising out of them —
Wilkes's arrest and Churchill's escape 301
The Trial before Chief Justice Pratt— Hogarth in the Court
sketching Wilkes — Publishes his Caricature — Anger of
Churchill . . ■ 302
The Epistle to Hogarth — Heavy hitting — Unpublished Letter of
ChurchiU 303
Character of the Epistle — The Man savagely attacked, but the
Genius spared — Tribute to Hogarth's greatness , . 304
Garrick's opinion — Lord Bath's — General excitement — Hogarth's
Rejoinder — Print of Churchill as the Bear . . . , 305
Churchill meditates further attack — Refrains on a lady's sug-
gestion— Reconciliation with Hogarth prevented by death —
Churchill's Mistress — Origin of the Connection — Walpole's
account, and Southey's 306
Churchill's expressions of Remorse — His Poem of the Conference
— Affecting self-references ....... 307
Unequal conflict of Vice and Virtue — Appeal on Churchill's
behalf 308
Anecdote from Adventures of a Guinea — Conduct to an Unfor-
tunate— Offices of the Good Samaritan . . . . 309
Absence from London — Robert Lloyd's imprisonment — Churchill's
grateful kindness — Goes to him in the Fleet — Supports
him — Gets up subscription for his release — A true poet . 310
Specimens of his Poetry apart from his Satire — On the Conquests
in America 311
His Five Ages — Infancy, Childhood, Youth, Manhood, and Old
Age 312
Paraphrase of Isaiah — Charming repetitions — A suggestion for
Bums — The North Briton burnt — Wilkes prosecuted . . 313
Sandwich's Display in the House of Lords — ^Warburton's assault
— Resolve to expel Wilkes from the House of Commons . 314
Ministerial prosecution drives him into France — The Duellist
published — Wilkes's Scheme to get help from French Go-
vernment— Opposed by Churchill — His fame abroad . . 315
Manner of Composition — Haste^ yet Care — Avoids Literary So-
ciety— Dr. Johnson corrects his fii'st opinion of him — Not
so bad as he seemed 316
Establishment at Acton Common — Mode of living— Greediness
of gain imputed to him — Cowper's reply to that objection —
Tribute to old school-fellow in the Table Talk . . .317
The Author published— Horace Walpole's admiration . . 318
Praise of the Critics — Appearance of Gotham — Idea of a Patriot
King in Verse — Descriptive Poetry of a high order , .319
CONTENTS. xxiii
Charles CIiurcMIl. page
Gotham less successful than the Personal Satires — Dryden's
Religio Laici less attractive than MacFlecknoe — Bookseller
Johnson to his son Samuel 320
A Subject for a Satire — Lord Sandwich a Candidate for High
Stewardship of Cambridge — Churchill publishes The Candi-
date 321
Churchill's character of Sandwich compared with Dryden's of
Buckingham — Appearance of The Farewell, The Times, and
Independence . 322
What is a Lord — Churchill's self-painted portrait — Plays the
Hogarth to his own defects — Last unfinished Poem — His
Dedication to Wai-burton — Hogarth on his death-bed . 323
Churchill's strange anticipation of his own impending fate —
Goes hastily to Boulogne — Illness seizes him — Wilkes and
other friends summoned. . . . . . . • 324
Dictates his will — Dies — Garrick's comment — His first emotion
not grief 325
Penalties of Popularity — Forged Letters — Charles Lloyd's and
Sister Patty's grief — Two broken hearts at Churchill's
grave — Wilkes's Professions of grief ..... 326
What Wilkes will do for his friend — What Wilkes really did for
his friend — Churchill's body brought over to Dover— Tablet
to his Memory ........ 327
Lord Byron at Churchill's grave — Moralizes on the Glory and the
Nothing of a Name 328
V. SAMUEL FOOTE. 1720- 1777.
(From the Quarterly Review, September 1854. With Additions. ) 329—462.
A Joker's reputation— Lives and dies in a Generation — The Wit
of one reign the Bore of the reign succeeding . . . 329
Laughter* s losing race against the Decorums — Swift tripped up
by Tale of a Tub— Men of great social repute denied any
other — Books upon English Humourists and Satirists —
Foote omitted 330
A forgotten Name — What it once expressed — A terrible and
delightful Reality— Various emotions inspired by his writ-
ings .......... 331
What Foote claimed for his Comedies — Claim not admitted —
Johnson's sarcasm against him — Adopted by writers since —
Walter Scott's opinion — Macaulay's .... 332
Reasons for disputing them — Unfavourable effect of Foote's
acting on his literary reputation — Introduction of real cha-
racters justified by Vanbrugh, Farquhar, and Moliere . . 333
Limits of the strictly Personal in satire— Intention of writer lost
xxiv CONTENTS.
Samuel Foote. page
in mimickry of actor— Endeavour to explain Foote's title
to the fame he acquired . . . . . , 334
Readiness of his Humour — Impossible to put him at Disadvant-
age— Specimens of his Wit — At White's Club — In Macklin's
lecture-room — At his friend Delaval's . . . . 335
At Lord Stormont's — Abating and dissolving Pompous Gentle-
men— Hint to Hugh Kelly — The foolish Duke of Cumber-
land— Jokes worth remembering 336
Haunted by a Murdered tune — Old Cornish parson with his
Glebe in his hands — Among Mrs. Montagu's blue-stockings
— A doctor with too many irons in the fire — A mercantile
gentleman's poem . 337
Foote compared with Quin and Garrick — Johnson's opinion of
Foote's Incompressibility — Might serve for description of
Falstaff's wit — Genius for Escape 338
Foote's mimickry a peculiar power — Dangers incident to its ex-
ercise— Hard for what is brimful not to run over — Tyranny
in the Habit of jesting — Startling introduction to a Club of
Wits .......... 339
Samuel Foote born at Truro — His father an active magistrate —
His mother a woman of fortune — Resemblances to her son 340
A boy at Worcester collegiate school — Mimickry of grown-up
people — First in all pranks against authority — Talent for
making fun of Elders and Superiors .... 341
Student at Oxford — Acting Punch — Other extravagances —
Making fun of Provost Gower — Outrage of University dis-
cipline—Quits Oxford — Enters of the Temple— Why designed
for a lawyer — Imaginary Affiliation Case . . . . 342
Startling Tragedy — Close of a Family Quarrel— One of his Uncles
procures the other to be Murdered 343
Captain Goodere RN hanged, and Foote gets part of the
estate of Sir John Dinely Goodere, Bart — Makes a figure
in London clubs and taverns — Vicinity of Theatres still head
quarters of Wit — First appearance at the Bedford . . . 344
Two years of dissipation — Renting the Worcestershire Family
Seat — In the Fleet— Murphy's cheerful day with him
there 345
His alleged first essay in Authorship — Pamphlet on the Catas-
trophe of his Uncles — Account of it 346
Meeting with old Oxford Fellow students — Witty concealment of
defective wardrobe — Succeeds to a Second Fortune . .347
Tradition of his Marriage, and a ghostly serenade — Reasons for
doubting it — A laughing Excuse for Bachelorhood — The
Second Fortune spent — Reappears at the Bedford . . . 348
Another accession to the circle — Poor young Collins— The laugh
turned against Foote — Garrick's sudden success . .349
CONTENTS. XXV
Samuel Foote. page
Raging of Theatrical Factions — Active part taken by Macklin
and Foote — Form a third party among the Critics . . . 350
Foote's theatrical writings — Treatise on the Passions — Essays on
Comedy and Tragedy — Necessity of making provision for
himself — Taste for the Stage — Consults his friends the
Delavals 351
Joins Macklin and the Actors against Gamck and the Patentees
— Appears at Haymarket — Why Debutants select Othello —
Garrick's failure in it — Pompey and the Tea-tray — Mr.
Pope's nod of approval to Macklin 352
Foote's doubtful reception in Othello — His second character
more successful — Lord Foppington — Hints from Gibber —
Goes over to Dublin — His Wit more remembered there than
his Acting 353
Returns to Drury Lane — Characters played in his first season —
Sir Harry Wildair, Lord Foppington, Tinsel, Sir Novelty
Fashion, Sir Courtley Nice, Younger Loveless, Dick Amlet,
Bayes — Fits his own humourous peculiarities . . .354
His personal appearance — Garrick Club Dramatic Portraits —
Nineveh of a Lost Art — Reynolds's poi-trait of Foote — Tra-
ditions of Bayes — Garrick's innovations condemned by
Cibber and Lord Chesterfield 355
Foote's performance of Bayes — Imitates actors — Satirizes poli-
ticians— His Improvised Additions suggest a New Enter-
tainment— Diversions of the Morning .... 356
Its extraordinary effect — Epilogue of the Bedford Coffee-house
— Name of English Aristophanes given to Foote — Actors
take up arms against their assailant . . ... 357
Licensing Act applied against him — Constables put it in force —
Invites his friends to Morning Chocolate — Sir Dilbury Diddle
and Lady Betty Frisk — No more Magistrates' Warrants . 358
Mr. Foote's Morning Chocolate — Entertainment described —
Troop of Actors brought together — Castallo and Ned Shuter 359
Actors complaints jested off — Foote no longer opposed — Changes
his Morning entertainment into Evening — Mr. Foote's
Tea — An offer from Covent Garden — Foote's Auction
of Pictures 360
Its run at Haymarket — Interrupted by Bottle Conjuror — The
Duke of Montagu's hoax — New Lots at the Auction — The
Great Weakness of the day — Agencies for all Deceptions 361
Foote's picture of an Auctioneer — Everything alike to him, and
be alike in everything — As eloquent on a Ribbon as on a
Raffaele — Vehicle for personal and public Satire . . . 362
Mixed feelings provoked — Deference, Fear, and Popularity —
Distinction between his unpublished and his published
pieces — The question stated as to Individual Satire — Doubts
involved — Limits of Legitimate Comedy .... 363
Foote's first published piece — The Knights — Happy medium
between farce and comedy — Dialogue and Character . . 364
CONTENTS.
Samuel Foote.
Sir Penurious Trifle and Sir Gregory Gazette— Wealthy Miser
and Country Quidnunc — Personal introduction . . . 365
A proposed Treaty with the Pope imparted to Sir Gregory — How
we are all to be made of One Mind — Sir Gregory's exulta-
tation ... 366
Copies from Life — No Vampings from Antiquated plays or Pil-
feriiigs from French farces— Sir Penurious played by Foote 367
Woodward the Comedian threatens Tit for Tat — The Mimic sen-
sitive to Mimickry — Sarcastic letter to Garrick and Gar-
rick's reply ..... ... 368
Fitful intercourse of Foote and Garrick — The men marked out
for Rivalry — Foote the most frequent aggressor — Garrick' s
369
Garrick's alleged love of money — Foote's Jokes thereon — A Thief
in the Candle— The Captain of the Four Winds— The bust
on Foote's Bureau 370
A Guinea going far — Friendly feeling underlying Sarcasm — In-
tercourse uninterrupted by the Laugh — Garrick in Foote's
Green-room 371
The Hampton Temple to Shakespeare — Players not invited to
the Libations — Principle of not losing Friend for Joke,
unless Joke be better than Friend — Foote's ready Scholarship 372
At dinner with Charles Fox and his friends — Takes the lead in
Conversation — Johnson's rebuke to Boswell for underrating
him — Ti-ibute to his powers — Foote and Garrick at Chief
Justice Mansfield's table — Advantages of Not Paying one's
Debts 373
Foote's introduction to Johnson — The dinner at Fitzherbert's —
Johnson's resolve Not to be pleased, and What came of it . 374
Johnson at Foote's dinner-table — ^With Foote in Bedlam — Enjoy-
ment of Foote's sayings — Sleeping partnership in a brewery 375
The little black boy and Foote's small beer — His Third Fortune
spent — Companionship with the Delavals — A scandal re-
ported by Walpole 376
Change of Scene necessary — Visit to the Continent — Return to
London — Garrick produces his Comedy of Taste — Dedica-
tion to Sir Francis Delaval 377
Pope's Jemmy Worsdale — Profits of Taste given to him — Design
of the Comedy — Ridicule of false not of true connoisseur-
ship — Appreciation of Rafifaele as well as of Hogarth — Old
Master Carmine 378
His antecedents — Mr. Pufi" discovers him — Manufacture of
Guides — Profits how distributed 379
Fashionable portrait painting — Lady Pentweazle sits for her
picture — The part played by Worsdale — Calling up a Look
—Criticism by Mr. Puff 380
Foote again upon the Stage — His Englishman in Paris — With
Garrick in France — Strange reports about him — Gairick's
Prologue 381
CONTENTS. xxvii
Samuel Foote. page
Keception in London— Congreve's Ben and Farqnhar's Captain
Brazen added to his parts — At the Haymarket laughing at
Macklin — Engagement at Covent-garden .... 382
Plays his own Lady Pentweazle and Congreve's Sir Paul Plyant
— Advertised for Polonius — The Englishman returned from
Paris 383
Satire on the French — A John Bull view of French fashions and
foibles in 1754— Moral for the True Briton . . .384
Foote again at the Bedford — Macklin removed to the Tavistock
— His three shilling Ordinary and shilling Lecture — Oppor-
tunities for Foote in Macklins lecture-room — Laughs at the
Lectures — On the Irish Duel 385
On Memory by Rote — The great She-bear and the Barber — The
Grand Panjandrum — Foote establishes a Summer Lecture
of his own 386
Haymarket tragedy after the Greek manner — Haymarket Lec-
ture crowded — Macklin's shut up — Foote's friendship with
Arthur Murphy — Their early intercourse . . . . 387
First night of Orphan of China — A Dinner with Hogarth and
Delaval— Hearing Pitt in House of Commons — Misunder-
standing 388
Murphy puts Foote into a comedy — Intended posthumous ridicule
of his friend's failings — Comedy of the Author produced —
Its character and merits 389
Absence of all pretence in Foote's writings — Neither false senti-
ment nor affected language — No face-making — Reality of
the Satire — Perfection of Comic Dialogue . . . . 390
Absurdity of comparison with Aristophanes — But some qualities
shared with the Greek — Athens in age of Pericles, and
London in time of Bubb Dodington — Old Vamp of Turn-
stile— A Patron and Protector of Authors . . . 391
Mr. Vamp's clients — Harry Handy and Mr. Cape— Vamp's
grandson in training for a politician — Foote's Author a
Gentleman 392
Introduction of Mr. Cadwallader — The part played by Foote . 393
Shout of surprise at his appearance — Dressed at a Real person
— His double sitting in the Boxes — Mr. Ap-Rice laughs at
the caricature of himself — Popularity of the Author — •
Kitty Olive's Becky 394
Inconvenient results for Mr, Ap-Rice — Moves the Lord Cham-
berlain against Foote — The Author suppressed — Lord
Chamberlain's subsequent concession of Haymarket licence 395
Failure in Dublin of the first Sketch of the Minor — The Irish
Engagement — Tate Wilkinson picked up by Shuter — Foote
takes him to Dublin — How they journeyed there . . . 396
Wilkinson's recollections of Foote — Their worthlessness — Secret
of the failure to depict men of genius — They contain what
you can find in them, no less or more .... 397
xxviii CONTENTS.
Samuel Foote. page
Odd adventure in Dublin — Foote playing the Conjm'or — Taken
ojff by Wilkinson — Entertainment of Tea with his ptipil —
Its popularity 398
Foote' s reception at the Castle — Rehearsing Minor -with Mr.
Rigby — Its failure on Dublin stage — His reappearance at the
Bedford in London — Twitted with the failure — Foote de-
fends his attack on Whitfield ...... 399
The great Leader of the Methodists in his pulpit — His audiences
at Hampton Common and Moorfields — Effecting for Low
Church what Puseyism attempts for High Church — Making
religion vital in direction of Calvinism . . . . 400
Drawbacks and disadvantages — Scorn of the Chesterfields and
Walpoles — Foote's unsparing attack .... 401
His character of Mrs. Cole — An edified member of Mr. Squin-
tum's congregation — Purpose of the satire . . . . 402
Extraordinary success of the Minor in London — Foote doubles
Mrs. Cole and Mr. Smirk — Effort to stop the performance —
Lord Chamberlain refuses to interfere — The Archbishop of
Canterbuiy appealed to — Declines to meddle — Attack by
Whitfield's friends — Foote's reply . ' . . . 403
Anachronisms in his pamphlet — No disproof of his scholarship
— Recollections of him at Eton acting in Greek plays . . 404
Argument against abolishing what is Grood because pervertible to
Bad — Foote exhibits Thespis and Whitfield in their respec-
tive Carts — Asserts the claim of Minor to be called Comedy
not Farce — Comedy not dependent on number of acts . 405
Hints taken by Sheridan and Holcroft from Foote's Minor —
Original of Little Moses and his friend Premium — The brisk
Mr. Smirk — Pleasant but Wrong 406
Sam Shift the Link-boy — Experiences of the World in Avenues
of the playhouse — Taken into Whimsical Man's service —
Sets up for himself — Laugh at Tate Wilkinson . . . 407
Keen knowledge of character — General Characteristics in Par-
cular Forms— The family of the Wealthys— As good as a
Picture by Hogarth ' . 408
Crop-eared 'prentices of Past Generation compared with Modem
City lads — The Old country gentleman with the Modern
man of fashion — Foote's increase of reputation from The
Minor— Joint-Manager of Drury-Lane with Murphy . . 409
Production of the Liar — A Laugh for Goldsmith— Sketch from
the Life of a Monthly Reviewer 410
Production of Bentley's Comedy of the Wishes — Private Rehear-
sal at Bubb Dodington's — Bute and other great Folk present
—Proposed Prologue, and its Flattery of the Young King
and the Favorite — Foote refuses to speak it — Too strong . 411
Laugh at Bubb Dodington in the Patron— Its happy leading
notion — Character of Sir Thomas Lofty . . . .412
His Chorus of Flatterers— Patronage of Bad poets as vile as
Neglect of Good ones— The Damned Play and its Author . 413
CONTENTS. xxix
Samuel Foote. page
Hints for Sir Fretful Plagiary — Foote doubles Sir Thomas Lofty
with Sir Peter Pepperpot 414
A Laugh at the Society of Antiquaries — Resemblance of Miss
Lofty to Bust of the Princess Poppsea —Weston's acting in
Martin Rust ... - 415
Sketches of Underling Bards and Hack Booksellers — Mr, Dactyl
and Mr. Puff — A Garretteer in Wine-oflfice Court — Existing
relations of Literature and Publishing . . , .416
A self-important personage — Mi-. Alderman Faulkner — Lord
Chesterfield — Faulkner introduced in The Orators — His
wooden leg — A caricature of a caricature — Foote's subse-
quent causes for regret 417
Mr. Peter Paragraph played by Foote — Ridicule of Spirit Rap-
pings— Cock Lane Ghost 418
Speakers at the Robin Hood — The respected Gentleman in the
Sleeves — Lord Chesterfield ironically advises Faulkner to
prosecute Foote — The advice taken gravely — Action tried
in Dublin 419
Foote puts Jury, Counsel, and Judge, into an interpolated scene
in The Orators— Produces the Mayor of Garrett— Carica-
tures the Duke of Newcastle and Justice Lamb . . . 420
Wit and entertainment of the Mayor of Garrett — Major Sturgeon,
Jerry Sneak, Matthew Mug, and Peter Primer —Its success,
and Mr. Whitehead's opinion thereupon .... 421
Foote produces The Commissary — Aimed at the successful army
contractors of the Seven Years' War— Copies Moliere and
laughs at Dr. Arne — Reader introduced to Mrs. Mechlin . 422
Her commodities and customers — New lights in match-making
— Marriage of the Macaroni parson Dodd satirised . . 423
Illustrations from Walpole's Letters — Charles Fox's actual
Mrs. Mechlin — Reality of Foote's satire . . . . 424
Foote at highest point of his fortune — Splendid seasons at Hay-
market — His vogue in Paris — His fashionable life in London
— Wide range of his celebrity — The Boys invite him to
Eton 425
His respect for literary men — Gray, Mason, and Goldsmith —
Duke of York visits him — He visits Lord Mexborough —
Accident in hunting — His leg amputated .... 426
Touching correspondence with Garrick — Lord Chesterfield's an-
nouncement to Faulkner 427
Kindness of the Court — King grants him Patent for Haymarket
— Rebuilds the Theatre — Appears again, with false leg,
on the Stage 428
Nine original dramas in nine years — Toils of acting and man-
agement— Sufferings from illness — Produces Devil on Two
Sticks— Satirises Practitioners in Physic . . . . 429
Doctor Brocklesby and Mrs. Macauley — Good humoured Satire
— Socratic party in the Boxes — The President of College
XXX CONTENTS.
Samuel Foote. page
of Physicians— Little Apozem the Apothecary — Zoffany's
picture 430
Production of the Lame Lover — Foote's jokes against Attornies
— Grand battery against the Law 431
The case of Hobson and Nobson — Arguments on either side —
Footmen and Maids aping Masters and Mistresses . . 432
Hero of the Lame Lover — Sir Luke Limp — Laugli at Prince
Boothby — Son of Fielding's Sophia Western . . . 433
Sir Luke Limp's Engagements — Busy -with everybody's affairs
but his own — Invitations to Dinner — The Alderman, the
Knight, the Lord, and the Duke — Rank-worship laughed
at — No Flunkey ism in Foote 434
Produces the Maid of Bath — Garrick's prologue — Local por-
traiture of Bath — Satire of Home Tooke and Miser Long —
Visit of Cumberland and Garrick to Foote's house at Par-
son's Green 435
Production of the Nabob —Borough of Bribe' m — The Christian
Club — A Negro suggested for Member . . . .436
Question for the Licenser of Plays — Unpublished letter of Lord
Hertford to Horace Walpole — Ridicule of the Society of
Antiquaries . . . . . . . . . 437
Nabobs go to see the Nabob — Sir Matthew White and General
Smith — Invite Foote to their Houses — He produces the
Puppet Show 438
Piety in Pattens—Laugh at Politics and Public Men — Senti-
mental Comedy overthrown — The Stratford Jubilee . . 439
Garrick and Foote at Lord Stafford's — Interchange of hospitali-
ties— Good feeling between Foote and Grarrick — Their ser-
vices to each other ....... 440
Foote's public compliment to Mrs. Garrick — Writing Candi-
dates' Addresses for the Mock Election at Garrett — Pro-
duction and success of the Bankrupt 441
Mercantile Failures of 1772 — Sir George Fordyce and the
Scotch Bankers — Foote satirises Newspaper Slanders —
Last visit to Scotland 442
Visits Ireland for last time — Lord Harcourt's hospitalities —
Sadness of his Occasional Prologue 443
Behind the Scenes in Dublin — O'Keefe's recollections of him —
A Green-room incident 444
Generosity to Players — Encouragement of the Young — Support
of the Old — Not a slave to the Actor" s Vice of jealousy —
Playing for a Christmas Dinner 445
Unpublished letter to Garrick — Characteristic allusions — The
Literary Club — Foote's habit of reading in bed — Narrow
escape of becoming a Toast 446
Little Jephson and Foote in the Parliament House — Mr. Alder-
man Faulkner — An original letter — Message to Mrs.
Garrick 447
CONTENTS.
Samuel Foote.
Refusal to satirise upon Appearances only — Again in London —
Produces his Cozeners — Legitimate Satire — Macaroni
Preachers and Traders in Simony — Mrs. Rudd and Mrs.
Fleec'em 448
Charles Fox's Adventure with West Indian Heiress introduced
— Painting of Charles's eyebrows— The Private Boxes con-
vulsed— Dr. Dodd's attempted Bribery of Lady Apsley . 449
Foote's Dr. Simony — The most "populous" of Preachers — His
short Sermons and short Wig — No scruples in Duty or
Doctrine 450
Ridicule of Chesterfield's Letters to his Son — Further burlesque
of them meditated — Johnson's suggestion — Foote's illness
and projected surrender of his theatre . . . .451
One more new Comedy — The Trip to Calais — Strikes at Duchess
of Kingston — She strikes again — Her blow the heaviest . 452
Appeal to the Chamberlain — Foote's letter to Lord Hertford —
Suppression of his play would close his public life — Lord
Hertford suggests a compromise . . . . . 453
Interview at Kingston House — Offers to Foote — His rejection
of them — Batteries of private slander opened remorselessly
against him ......... 454
A cry of pain — Offer to withdraw Scenes if Libels are with-
drawn— The Duchess's Letter 455
Foote's Reply to the Duchess — Masterpiece of Wit and Satire —
Lord Mountstuart called in evidence 456
Horace Walpole's opinion of the Controversy — Mason's — Dr.
Hoadly's — The Duchess's Trial and Conviction of Bigamy . 457
Foote's resolve— Produces The Capuchin — Satirises his libeller
Jackson — Packing of Audience at the Haymarket — Con-
spiracy against Foote — Unnameable slanders — Foote pro-
secutes the Slanderer . . . . . . .458
Reopens the Haymarket — His Reception and his Appeal — Pun-
ishment of his Libeller — Counter-accusation got up against
Foote 459
The Trial deferred — Foote's sufferings — Grarrick's kindness —
The friends who rallied round him — Burke, Reynolds,
— Fitzherbert, the Royal Dukes, and other noblemen — Trial
before Lord Mansfield 460
Murphy the messenger of the Verdict — Foote's extraordinary
emotion — Lets his Theatre to Colman — Complete list of his
Dramatic Pieces, and dates of Performance— At the Queen's
Drawing-Room — Last appearance on the Stage . .461
Reaches Dover on his way to France — His Death — Buried in
the Cloisters of Westminster Abbey— No memorial in
marble or stone ........ 462
Index 463
[TJHI7EESIT7J
OUTER CEOMWELL
1599—1658.
Histoire de la RepuhUque d'Angleterre et de Cromwell. Par M. Guizot.
Richard Cromwell. Par M. Guizot.
History of Oliver Cromwell and the English Commonwealth. By M. Guizot.
Translated from the French.
Up to the time when Mr. Macaulay, some seyen and
twenty years ago, remarked of the character of Cromwell
in this Review, that though constantly attacked and
scarcely ever defended, it had yet always continued
popular with ^q great hody of his countrymen, it is un-
questionable that the memory of the great Protector,
assiduously blackened as it had been in almost every
generation since his death, had failed to find a writer in
any party entirely prepared to act as its champion. Down
to the days of Mr. Hume, Cromwell remained for the
most part what that philosophical historian very unphi-
losophically called him, " a fanatical hypocrite ; " and
though there was afterwards a great change, though to
praise him was no longer punishable, to revile him became
almost unfashionable, and at last the champion ready on
every point to defend and uphold him was found in Mr.
Carlyle, it is yet remarkable what differences of opinion
as to his moral quaHties continued to prevail, where even
the desire to exalt his intellectual abilities was most
marked and prominent. We shall perhaps best exhibit
this, and with it the authorities on which M. Guizot has
had mainly to rely for that latest and not least admirable
* From the Edinhurgh Review; January, 1856. With several omissions.
2 DIFFERENT VIEWS OF SAME CHARACTER. \Oliver
of the written portraits of the Protector whicli we are
about to introduce to our readers, if we briefly sketch
Cromwell under the leading general aspects in which he
has appeared to the students of English history, from the
opening of the present century to our own day. That
will of course exclude the old Tory and Fox-hunting
style of talking of him, and restrict us to such expressions
only as educated men need not blush to read. Under
three di\dsions, we think, all may be sufficiently included.
The first would run somewhat thus. That, when the
struggle had passed from the parliament house into the
field of battle, there somewhat suddenly arose into the
first place amid the popular ranks, a man not more re-
markable for his apparent religious fanaticism than for
the sagacity of his practical outlook on afi'airs. So far
indeed had the latter quality in him a tendency, as events
moved on, to correct the former, that even what was
sincere in his rehgious views soon yielded to the teachings
and temptations of worldly experience, and religion itself
became with him but the cloak to a calculating policy.
His principal associates were bigots in repubHcanism ;
but he had himself too much intellect to remain long
under a delusion so preposterous, as that monarchy,
aristocracy, and episcopacy were not essential to England.
As the opponent of all three, nevertheless, he was pledged
too deeply to recede ; and such was the false position in
which his very genius and successes placed him, that,
with no love for hypocrisy, he became of necessity, a
hypocrite. To cant in his talk, to grimace in his gestures,
on his very knees in prayer to know no humility, were
the crooked ways by which alone he could hope to reach
the glittering prize that tempted him. When at last it
fell within his grasp, therefore, when he had struck aside
the last life that intercepted his path to sovereignty, and
al he sought was won, there came with it the inseparable
attendants of discontent and remorse. " What would not
" Cromwell have given," exclaims Mr. Southey, "whether
" he looked to this world or the next, if his hands had
" been clear of the king's blood ! " The height to which
he afterwards rose never lifted him above that stain. It
darkened the remainder of his life with sorrow. " Fain
"would he have restored the monarchy," pui'sues Mr.
Cromwe/L'] traitor to royalty or to liberty ? 3
Southey, " created a house of peers, and re-established
" tlie episcopal churcli." But his guilt to royalty was
not to be cleansed, or his crime to society redeemed, by
setting up mere inadequate forms of the precious insti-
tutions he had overthrown. He lived only long enough
to convince himself of this ; and at the close would have
made himself the instrument for even a restoration of the
Stuarts, if Charles the Second could have forgiven the
execution of his father. But this was not thought possible,
and Cromwell died a defeated and disappointed man.
The second view of the character would arrive, by very
different reasoning, at something like the same conclusion
of grief and disappointment. Within somewhat similar
toils of ambition, however, it exhibits a far greater and
purer soul. It would seem to be founded on the belief,
that a man must have thoroughly deceived himself before
he succeeds on any great or extended scale in deceiving
others ; and here the final remorse is made to arise, not
from treason to royalty, but from treason to liberty. In
this Cromwell, we have a man never wholly mthout a
deep and sincere rehgion, however often able to wrest it
to worldly purposes ; and, if never altogether without
ambition, yet with the highest feelings and principles
intenningUng with the earlier promptings of it. There
is presented to us a man not always loving liberty, but
always restless and insubordinate against tyranny ; and
at the last, even with his hand upon the crown, driven
back from it by the influence still possessed over him by
old republican associates. His nature, in this view of
it, is of that complicated kind, that, without being false
to itself, it has yet not been true to others ; and it is even
more the consciousness of what might have been his
success, than the sense of what has been his failure,
which constitutes the grief of his closing years. \Yhile
he has grasped at a shadow of personal authority, the
means of government have broken from him ; and, fail-
ing as a sovereign, he cannot further succeed as a ruler.
Difficulties without have accumulated, as perplexities
within increased ; and his once lofty thoughts and aspira-
tions have sunk into restless provisions for personal safety.
The day which released his great spirit, therefore, the
anniversary of his victories of Worcester and Dunbar,
B 2
4 COMPLETE TYPE OF PURITAN REBELLION. {OUver
was to be held still his Fortunate Day for the sake of
the death it brought, not less than it was so held of old
for the triumphs it associated with his name.^
The third stands apart from both of these, and may be
taken as the expression of certain absolute results, to
which a study of the entire of CromwelFs letters and
speeches, brought into succinct arrangement and con-
nection, has been able to bring so earnest an inquirer as
Mr. Carlyle. We may thus describe them. That, in tha
harsh untuneable voice which rose in protest against
popery in the third parliament, was heard at once the
complete type and the noblest development of what was
meant by the Puritan Rebellion. That there then broke
forth the utterance of a true man, of a consistency of
character perfect to an heroic degree, and whose figure
has heretofore been completely distorted by the mists of
time and prepossession through which we have regarded
it, as we looked back into the past. That this Cromwell
was no hypocrite or actor of plays, had no vanity or pride
in the prodigious intellect he possessed, was no theorist
in politics or government, was no victim of ambition, was
no seeker after sovereignty or temporal power. That he
was a man whose every thought was with the Eternal, —
a man of a great, robust, massive mind, and of an honest,
stout, Enghsh heart : subject to melancholy for the most
part, because of the deep yearnings of his soul for the
sense of divine forgiveness; but inflexible and resolute
always, because in all things governed by the supreme
law. That, in him, was seen a man whom no fear but of
the divine anger could distract ; whom no honour in man's
bestowal could seduce or betray ; who knew the duty of
the hour to be ever imperative, and who sought only to
do the work, whatever it might be, whereunto he believed
God to have called him. That, here was one of those
rare souls which could lay upon itself the lowliest and the
highest functions alike, and find itself, in them all, self-
^ Such was the view I attempted posed veiy greatly indeed to modify
to present of the character of this it ; though not by any means to adopt
great man in my Statesmen of the the tone of dislike and depreciation
Commonwealth. As the reader may of the Republicans and their design,
probably infer from the tone of the which too generally accompanies the
present Essay, I should now be dis- unsparing eulogy of Cromwell.
Cromwell. ] views of carlyle and of guizot. 5
contained and suflB.cient, — tlie dutiful gentle son, tlie quiet
country gentleman, the sportive tender husband, the fond
father, the active soldier, the daring political leader, the
powerful sovereign, — under each aspect still steady and
unmoved to the transient outward appearances of this
world, still wrestling and trampling forward to the sub-
lime hopes of another, and passing through every
instant of its term of life as through a Marston
Moor, a Worcester, a Dunbar. That such a man could
not have consented to take part in public affairs, under
any compulsion less strong than that of conscience.* That
his business in them was to serve the Lord, and to bring
his country under subjection to God's laws. That, if the
statesmen of the republic who had laboured and fought
with him, could not also see their way to that prompt
sanctification of their country, he did well to strike them
from his path, and unrelentingly denounce or imprison
them. That he felt, unless his purpose were so carried
out unflinchingly, a curse would be upon him ; that no
act, necessitated by it, could be other than just and noble ;
and that there could be no treason against royalty or
liberty, unless it were also treason against God. That,
finally, as he had lived he died, in the conviction that
human laws were nothing unless brought into agreement
with divine laws, and that the temporal must also mean
the spiritual government of man.
And now, with these three aspects of the same character
before us, we may perhaps better measure the view which
M. Guizot takes of Cromwell. Something of the first will
be found in it ; of the second decidedly yet more ; and
though it has nothing of the remorse with which both
cloud the latter days of the Protector, it expresses the
same sense of failure and loss, and stops with a faltering
step far short of where his last and warmest panegyrist
would place him. Free and unhesitating, nevertheless, is
its admiration of his genius and greatness, and earnest
and unshrinking the sympathy expressed with his courage
and his practical aims. It would seem to be the view too
exclusively of a statesman and a man of the world. The
conclusion arrived at, is that of one who has lived too
near to revolutions, and suffered from them too much,
always to see them in their right proportions, to measure
6 QUALIFICATIONS FOR SUCCESS. \Oliver
them patiently by their own laws, or to adjust them fairly
to their settled meaning and ultimate design. But there
is nothing in it which is petty or unjust ; nothing that is
unworthy of a high clear intellect.
M. Guizot thinks Cromwell to have been a great man,
but with the drawback of having been too much ena-
moured of the mere hard, substantial greatness, of this
lower world. All that was noble in his mind, and all that
was little, he was ever able, and too ready, to subordinate
to the lust of material dominion. But, where that passion
led him, there also lay what he believed to be his duty ;
and if, in the pursuit of it, he suffered no principle of
right to be a barrier upon his path, neither did he suffer
any mists of petty vanity to cloud his perfect view of
whatever hard or flinty road might lie before him. To
Grovern, says M. Guizot, that was his design. The business
of his life was to arrive at Government, and to maintain
himself in it ; his enemies were those who would throw
any bar or hindrance in the way of this ; and, excepting
those whom he used as its agents, he had no friends.
Such a man was Cromwell, if he be judged rightly by the
French historian. He was a great and a successful, but
an unscrupulous man. With equal success he attempted
and accomplished the most opposite enterprises. During
eighteen years a leading actor in the business of the
world, and always in the character of victor, he by turns
scattered disorder and established order, excited revo-
lution and chastised it, overthrew the government and
raised it again. At each moment, in each situation, he
unravelled with a wonderful sagacity the passions and
the interests that happened to be dominant ; and, twist-
ing all their threads into his own web of policy, he clothed
himself ever with their authority, and knew still how to
identify with theirs his own dominion. Always bent upon
one great aim, he spurned any charge of inconsistency as
to the means by which he pursued it. His past might
at any time belie his present, but for that he cared little.
He steered his bark according to the wind that blew ;
and, however the prow might point at one time and
another, it was enough for him if he could ride the stormy
waters of the revolution, and make short voyage without
shipwreck to the harbour beyond. The singleness of his
Cromwell. ~\ causes of failure. 7
aim was tlie consistency tliat covered any inconsistency
in the conduct of his enterprise. His work was good
if it attained its crown. His seamanship was credit-
able if it took him safely across to the desired port,
port royal.
Not that this expressed in him any mean or low desire
for a merely selfish aggrandisement. It is a main point
in M. Guizot's judgment of the character of Cromwell,
that he holds him to have been a man who felt quite as
distinctly as M. Guizot himself feels, an absence of prac-
tical sense in even the noblest system that is Kevolutionary.
He was thoroughly aw.are that a people Kke the English,
reverent of law, though they might crush a king by whom
the law had been defied, would nevertheless remain true
in their hearts to the principle of monarchy. When he
proposed, therefore, finally to stand before the English
as their sovereign, the Cromwell of M. Guizot was but
shaping his ambition by the spirit of the nation he sought
to rule. His soul was too great to be satisfied with a
mere personal success. To become a constitutional king
was only his last aim but one. His last, and the dearest
object of his life, was to transmit a crown and sceptre, as
their birthright, to succeeding members of his family.
He was a man, however, who could conquer, but who
could not found. He conquered much more than the
power of King of England, but also much less than the
name ; and while it was his own wish, as well as the genius
of the nation, to govern by Parliaments, and not an efibrt
was left unattempted by him to put off his absolutist
habits, and to live within the means of a ruler account-
able to Lords and Commons, these were the only labours
of his life in which he failed. To substitute for a weak
House of Stuart a strong House of CromAvell, at the gate
of the temple of the Constitution, was, if M. Guizot be
right in his view, the most persistent aim of the Protec-
torate. But herein the Protector failed ; and the histo-
rian to whom disorder is the synonym for revolution,
closes with this sentence the Histoire de la Bqnibliqiie
d' Angleterre et de Cromwell:
" God does not grant to the great men who have set
*' on disorder the foundations of their greatness, the
" power to regulate at their pleasure and for centuries,
8 SUFFERINGS OF A BOOK FROM TRANSLATION. {OUvet
" even according to their best wishes, the government
" of nations.'^ ^
That is the moral of the book ; and it may be well that
the reader should see, before we proceed further, how the
few simple and pregnant words composing it are given in
the English version. M. Guizot's translator'"' states his
endeavour to have been " to make as literal a translation
" as was compatible with our English idiom ;" and the
sentence, which translates literally as above, is adapted
to English idiom after the following fashion : " God
" does not grant to those great men who have laid the
" foundation of their greatness amidst disorder and revo-
*' lution, the power of regulating at their pleasure, and
" for succeeding ages, the government of nations.'* Of
which sentence, the accommodation to English idiom con-
sists in the addition of " and revolution " to " disorder,"
whereby the English implies that the two things are dif-
ferent, whereas it is the spirit of the French to assume
that they are like ; and in the entire omission of the
very pregnant clause by which both the summary of
Cromwell's ambition is qualified to his credit, and the
moral the historian would draw from it is pointedly en-
forced, namely, that in the opinion of M. Guizot, even
designs that might seem well worthy of completion are
frustrated by the divine wisdom, when disorder is used as
a step to their accomplishment.
As it is in this opening sentence, however, so it is, we
regret to say, through the greater part of the translator's
work ; and since we have interrupted ourselves to say so
much, we may as well delay the reader a little longer to
prove it. For, it is surely to be regretted that a book
like this by M. Guizot, so especially interesting to Eng-
1 * ' Dieu n'accorde pas aux grands an important one, and they are re-
" hommes qui ont pose dans le des- tained for that reason. I am bound
** ordre les fondements de leur to add, however, that the same
** grandeur, le pouvoir de regler, translator acquitted himself infi-
*' 4 leur gre et pour des siecles, nitely better in the execution of the
** m^meselonleursmeilleursdesirs, second part of M. Guizot's work,
*' le gouvernement des nations," devoted to Richard Cromwell. This
2 In again reading these remarks latter book, taken as a whole, is a
on M. Guizot's translator, the tone version of the original neither un-
is here and there unnecessarily pleasing nor unfaithful,
V harsh ; but the question raised is
Cromwell. ~\ style extinguished. 9
lisliineii tliat a place was at once ready in our permanent
literature for a good translation of it, should have failed
to find the proper care and attention in this respect. If
books were to be swallowed like water, with no regard to
the mere pleasure of the taste, it would matter little ; but
there is a style in writing as there is a bouquet in wine,
and if M. Guizot's be a little thin, it is yet pure, refined,
and sparkling, with a delicate aroma. As he presents it
to us, it is never flat or insipid ; but it is a sad plunge
from M. Guizot's flask to his translator's bucket, and
whatever spirit the original possessed is found to have
almost or altogether disappeared. A reconstruction
into verbose, round-in-the-mouth sentences, is the de-
struction of M. Guizot's French. The sense comes
mufiled, as though the voice reached us through a
feather bed. Let any one who cares to be at so much
trouble, read separately this history and its translation,
and he will be surprised to flnd how much is lost when
style is lost. The two versions leave absolutely difi'erent
impressions of the author's mind.
Without any special search for glaring instances, we
will begin at the beginning. We will take the first
dozen pages (written when the translator, fresh to his
work, could hardly have begun to sKp through weariness),
and see what has been made of them. The very title, we
regret to say, has been altered in significance. M. Guizot
wrote History of the Commomvealth of England and of
Cromwell, and this the translator makes compatible with
English idiom by writing History of Oliver Cromwell and
the English Commomvealth. It does not occur to him
that there may be sense, no less than sound, in the order
of the words placed upon his title-page by the historian.
His problem is to impart what he conceives to be an easy
flow to a given number of vocables ; and if for him they
flow better upside down than straightforward, they are
inverted accordingly.
It is a noticeable peculiarity of M. Guizot, that in
characterising historical persons he shows himself prone
to dwell on the contradictory appearances assumable by
the same nature. Whenever it is possible, he marks the
two sides which belong to human character, and the ease
with which opposite opinions of the same individual may
10 MEANINGS AND SENSE TRANSLATED. [OHver
"witli no dishonesty be formed. Of this there is of course
no example in his book, or in the whole range of human
history, so prominent as Cromwell himself; and the
temptation is great to the historian to bring out such
contrasts in strong antithetical expression. So marked
in M. Guizot is generally, indeed, this form of speech,
that it takes but the least additional strain to turn it
into nonsense ; and not seldom his translator goes far to
effect this, by multiplying words ^vithout the least neces-
sity. It is quite curious how he yields to the temptation
of rolling off high-sounding sentences. In the opening
words of the book, he cannot give simply even such an
epithet as " the lustre of their actions and their destiny,"
" I'eclat de leur actions et de leur destinee," without
turning it into " the splendour of their actions and the
*' magnitude of their destiny."
The history begins with a picture of the Long Parlia-
ment under its republican chiefs, reduced in number by
secessions following the execution of the King, and re-
garded without S}Tnpathy by the main body of the people.
In the February following the execution, there were not
more than seventy-seven members who recorded votes at
any of the divisions, and of these divisions M. Guizot
counts eight. The translator alters this into ten, without
a note to indicate the change. The parliamentary leaders,
M. Guizot continues, set to work, "avec une ardeur pleine
" en meme temps de foi et d'inquietude : " a hint of the
secret disquiet at the heart of theorists committed sud-
denly to action, which loses both subtlety and sense by
the translator's exaggeration of disquiet into anxiety, and
by his yoking of an adjective to each noun for the more
dignified and sonorous roll of the period. They set to
work, he says, with an ardour full " at once of strong
" faith and deep anxiety." The words strong and deep
come into the sentence, and the things strength and
depth go out of it.
Forty- one councillors of state were presently appointed,
and among those chosen, says M. Guizot, there were five
superior magistrates, and twenty-eight country gentlemen
and citizens : but these numbers, again mthout a note to
say that he is not translating, the translator alters, one
into three, the other into thirty. When these councillors
CromwelL'\ al'thor's intention missed. II
met, contiimes the historian, they were required to sign
an engagement approving of all that had been done " in
" the king's trial, and in the aboHtion of monarchy and
" of the house of lords : " but the translator words and
double words the simple expression, " in the king's trial,
" in the overthrow of kingship, and in the abolition of
" the house of lords." Twenty-two, proceeds M. Guizot,
persisted " a le repousser : " but English idiom pushes
away that spirited word, and tells us merely that they per-
sisted " in refusing it." The substance of their reasons,
adds M. Guizot, the tone of his mind colouring his ex-
pression insensibly, was that they " refused to associate
" themselves" with the past: but, masterly as is the hint
so given of a personal stain, and of the dread of compli-
city, the translator drearily obscures it into "■ refused to
" give their sanction." Excited by the censure so im-
pUed, resumes M. Guizot, the House nevertheless checked
its own resentment (''on ne voulut pas faire eclater les
" dissensions des republicains ") ; and here his temperate
and subtle tone again directs attention to the weakness
of the theoretical republicans, in the fact that they did
not msh to publish abroad their dissensions. But the
entire sense is lost by the translator, who again words
and double words and smothers it in idiom. " To ori-
" ginate dissensions among the republicans would, it
*' was felt, be madness." There is already discord in the
camp, suggests M. Guizot. Discord, suggests his trans-
lator, had yet to begin, and these were not men mad
enough to set it going. The translator may be right, but
he is not translating M. Guizot.
The historian still pursues his theme. " Les regicides
" comprirent qu'ils seraient trop faibles s'ils restaient
*' seuls : " but, that the translation might become " too
" weak " indeed, the simple words " trop faibles " are
multiplied into the idiomatic English of " not strong
*' enough to maintain their position." The matter was
accordingly arranged, says M. Guizot, " sans plus de
" bruit." Hushed-up would be no bad idiom for that ;
but, unfortimately, hushed-up would mean what M. Guizot
means, and so, says the translator, it was arranged " with-
" out further difficulty." Significantly M. Guizot adds,
of the modified pledge offered by the dissidents, that with
12 FELICITIES AND INFELICITIES OF IDIOM. [OUver
it " on se contenta : " wHcli, most insignificantly, the
translator renders " it was accepted."
These are small items of criticism, it will be said. But
be it understood that the last seven arise out of a single
paragraph, and that the last six are on the same page ;
and let any one conceive what murder is done upon the
soul of a book, 700 pages long, when a translator sits
dowTi in this manner to the work of killing it by inches.
We turn over, and on the first line of the next page
read that the compromise described was " to a very great
" extent " the work of Cromwell and Sir Henry Vane :
" to a very great extent " being the translator's idiom for
" surtout." Before we get to the middle of the page, we
find a date set down as November, without any note of
its having been written December in the text. On the
first line of the next page. Vane's suggestion of an oath
of fidelity having relation simply to the future, is spoken
of as an idea of which Cromwell was most eager " to
*' express his entire approval : " the translator so supply-
ing his peculiar idiom for " a s'en contenter." Similarly
we find, in the sentence following, that for " nul " the
English idiom is "no one for a moment." Of the com-
mittee of three who held the powers of the Admiralty,
M. Guizot says that Vane " etait Tame : " and his trans-
lator dilutes it into the idiom that Yane '' was the
" chief." Blake then enters on the scene, by whom,
according to M. Guizot, the glory of the Commonwealth
at sea was hereafter " a faire ; " and this expression is
rendered " to augment," that its spirit may be utterly
destroyed.
"We promised to comment on the first dozen pages of
this authorised English version of M. Guizot's Common-
wealth and Cromwell, and if we redeem our promise we
must discuss four more. Eather than do that, we will
break our promise. We quote from both texts the be-
ginning of page nine, the English water by the French
wine ; and no reader who examines it will desire that we
should splash on through the pages following. The pas-
sage, feeble as it is, is far above the average ; for in it
the sense of the text does absolutely survive what the
translator overlays it with, though in what condition the
reader will see.
Cromwell S\ warning to foreign writers. IS
**La chambre avait to^icM et "The house had revised and
pourvu a tout; la legislation, la arranged every department of the
diplomatie, la justice, la police, administration ; thelQcri^Xsdiou and
les finances, I'armee, la flotte etai- diplomacy of the country, tJie courts
ent dans ses mains. Pourparaitre 0/ justice, tlie police, the finances,
aussi desinteressee qu'elle etait the army, and the fleet, were all
active, elle admit les membres qui in its hands. To appear as dis-
s'etaient separes du parti vain- interested as it was active, it per-
queur, au moment de sa rupture mitted those members who had
definitive avec le roi, k reprendre separated from the conquering
leur place dans ses rangs, mais en party, at the moment of its defi-
leur imposant xva. tel desaveu de nitive rupture ^\•ith the king, to re-
leurs anciens votes que bien peu sume their seats in its midst ; but
d'entre enxpurent s'y resoudre.'" it required from them at the same
time such a disavowal of their
former votes, that very few could
persuade themselves to take advan*
tage of this co7icession.'"
Sucli is the translation which M. Guizot has authorised,
and which the law now protects against any hetter that
might replace it. The example should not he thrown
away. It is an evil, hut ought not to he a necessary evil,
of the protection given under international copyright,
that if a hook he marred in the translation, it is marred
past hope of mending. The new law is not less poHtic
than it is just, for without it there can he no inducement
sufficient to invite to such labour the employment of
original talents and real learning. But if, through want
of care in obtaining these, inapt or inferior talents are
employed and protected, mischief beyond retrieval is
done. Nor is it easy to make the proper choice. A man
may be a very respectable writer who will turn out to be
an execrable translator, though it would be next to im-
possible that a good translator should not also be a writer
of respectable powers. But the difficulty should be
tlioroughly considered, and a scrupulous care exerted, be-
fore foreign writers permit their works to pass finally out
of their own keeping. What an engraver is to an artist,
a translator should be to an author ; and the best masters
in either craft have at all times been esteemed, by authors
and painters of repute, as brother craftsmen. If pub-
lishers are indisposed to the same view, the public should
protect themselves. Copyright in translation will involve
grave injury to them, if it lowers instead of raising the
average of translating ability by lowering the prices paid
for it. To give no more, under the new law, to the author
14 PERSONAL EXPERIENCES COLOURING HISTORY. [OUver
and the translator, than under the old was given to the
translator alone, is to mistake altogether the object of a
change which was meant to increase the facilities for
properly remunerating both, by protecting translations of
a really high character from unequal rivalry with the in-
different or worthless. We invite to the subject, there-
fore, a more minute attention than it has hitherto been
customary to give to it. A more exacting criticism of
translation, as translation, may at least check the incapable
with some fear of censure, and cheer on the able with
some small hope of reasonable fame.
The lights and shades of style indicate the bias of an
author's mind. In describing their effacement from the
English version of this History, we have found also means
to indicate what, in M. Guizot's case, the bias is. What it
is, it could hardly fail to be. It requires but the opening
sentence of the volumes ' to reveal to us that the feelings of
the writer are here more nearly touched than they had been
by the former portion of his narrative. His account of
the Eevolution down to the King's execution, published
more than thirty years ago, was given in a style as calm
as it was clear : but here, where only the men of the Re-
public are before him, though he is still philosophical, and
still to the utmost of his ability a righteous judge, a ripple
before unseen appears upon the surface of his judgment ;
and we cannot but be reminded of all that has filled up
the interval since that first portion of his book was written.
The statesman who has connected his own name in
1 "J'ai raconte la chute d'une *' struments de ses grand desseins
•' ancienne monarchie et la mort " sont pleins de contradiction et de
** violente d'un roi digne de respect, *' mystere : il mele et unit en eux,
** quoiqu'il ait mal et injustement *' dans des proportions profonde-
" gouverne ses peuples. J'aimain- ** ment cachees, les qualites et les
*' tenant ^ raconter les vains efforts *' defauts, les vert us et les vices, les
"d'une assemblee rdvolutionnaire ** lumieres et les erreurs, les gran-
•' pour fonder une republique, et.le " deurs et les faiblesses ; et apres
•' gouverneraent toujours chance- ** avoir rempli leur temps de Feclat
•* laut, bien que fort et glorieux, '* de leurs actions et de leur des-
*' d'un despote r^volutionnaire, ad- ** tin^e, ils demeurent euxmemes
" mirable par son hardi et judi- " obscurs au sein de leur gloire,
" cieux genie, quoiqu'il ait attaque *' encenses et maudits tour a tour
" etdetruit, dans son pays, d'abord " par le monde qui ne les connait
** I'ordre legal, puis la liberte. Les " pas."
* ' hommes que Dieu prend pour in-
Cromzvell.'] early life of guizot. 15
history with endeavours to preserve a king and a consti-
tution, and who saw king and constitution swept away to
make room for an ephemeral repubHc, holds fast never-
theless by a constitutional monarchy as not merely the
best form of government, but, so to speak, as his own
cause, and regards a republic with some sense of personal
antagonism. The open expression of this is as far as
possible subdued ; but not the less is it discernible.
Sixty-one years ago a high-spirited young lawyer died
at Nimes on the scaffold, sentenced to death for his
dislike of a republic by a court obedient to the French
Republican Convention. That young man, twenty-seven
years old when his life was taken, was the father of M.
Guizot. The latter was only a boy of seven at the time,
but he was old enough to receive into his soul an undy-
ing recollection of the murder in the name of Hberty that
made a widow of his mother. The decree which took
away the father's life and confiscated his possessions,
ordered also that his childi-en, — the boy just named,
and another little son, — should be committed to the
foundling hospital, and brought up in accordance with a
revolutionary law. But their mother, a noble woman,
whom her eldest-born, then become a statesman and
historian of European fame, saw grieving after fifty years
of widowhood with fresh tears for the husband of her
youth, took them with the wreck of her fortune out of
France, and dwelt with them for six years at Geneva,
watching carefully their education. Father and mother
had been pious Protestants, finn against the pressm-e of
reHgious persecution ; and, open to all grave and noble
influences, M. Guizot's boyhood at Geneva was full of the
promise which his manhood more than fulfilled. By the
reflective tone of his mind, by his skill in reasoning, by a
surprising aptitude for the acquisition of languages, and
by a taste for historical inquiry, even so early he dis-
tinguished himself. Sent at the age of eighteen as a law
student to Paris, his abilities were quickly recognised by
men ready to turn them to account. His pen was soon
brought into use ; and his literary talents as well as in-
dustry were displayed in the publication by him, at the
age of twenty-two, of his well known Dictionary of
Sy}ionyms. He had begun at the same time the arduous
16 A FRENCH statesman's CAREER. \Oliver
enterprise of a translation of Gibbon, witb original notes ;
and so prompt was the recognition of his manifest ability,
that at the age of twenty-four he was made professor of
modem history at the Faculty of Letters.
Through all the troubles of France during the years
that ensued, M. Guizot, known as a man of the future,
steadily maintained his position. "Whatsoever he believed
to be anarchy, he calmly but determinedly opposed.
Standing between republican and despot in the days of
Bonaparte and of Charles X, with a moral courage free
from display of passion, he held firm to the lesson of his
life which study had strengthened in him, that the quiet
reign of a constitutional king, upon a system liberally
conservative, is the condition of prosperity and peace for
the French people, or for any people fairly civilised.
Order, with Liberty, was his creed in those days ; as to
the present it has remained his belief that Liberty must
be protected by Order. One of his first political pam-
phlets was upon Eepresentative Government ; another
was upon the mode of conducting Government and Oppo-
sition. One of the first historical inquiries on which he
entered was a discovery for himself of the origin and
causes of our great Eevolution. He published an account
of it to the death of Charles I ; and, with a spirit and enter-
prise which has yet found no parallel in England itself,
he completed, in no less than twenty-six octavo volumes,
a translated collection of memoirs and histories relating
to it. As a writer, we should not omit to add, his first
commanding success was won by his elaborate Lectures
on the origin of Representative Government in Europe,
delivered at the temporary cost of his chair when France
sorely needed reliable and sound information on that
matter.
At last came the revolution of 1830, and there was
placed upon the French throne a ruler whose obvious
interest it was, at once to resist all extremes of democratic
passion and to establish a government that should in its
nature be liberal not less than conservative : enough of
the former to be safe, and of the latter to satisfy European
statesmen. In such a course there was no man in France
so fit to counsel the King and serve the country as M.
Guizot. The student of history, so skilful and so dispas-
Cromwell.'] cojsflicts with french republicans. 17
sionate, became accordingly Minister of Interior to Louis
Philij^pe. Subsequently be gave his earnest support,
though out of office, to the Ministry of Casimir Perier ;
and he afterwards held the Portfolio of Public Instruction
for nearly five years, bet^Yeen 1832 and 1837. During
the summer of 1840, he was Ambassador in England ;
at the close of that year he formed the Ministry in which
he took the charge of Foreign Affairs, but of which he
was the virtual head ; and finally, on the death of Mar-
shal Soult, in September 1847, he became its nominal as
well as actual chief, and Prime Minister of France. The
beginning of this career of office was employed in decisive
suppression of all active revolutionary opposition to the
new monarchy. The middle of it saw him the successful
founder of a system of national education for his country-
men, far better than anything of a similar kind even yet
attempted in Great Britain. And it is quite possible
that the close of it might have placed within his power
the salvation of the French monarchy, if, in the critical
hour, a failing king had not forsaken his counsels. The
throne fell ; and the same republican wrath which had
destroyed his father, again beat and surged around the
monarchist statesman. But whatever his failures, in
theory or in action, M. Guizot never failed in probity.
He never flinched from the trial of his principles ; never
feU from his oaths or his professions ; never in his public
conduct abated what his secret conscience exacted. There
have been many greater statesmen, but few so altogether
free from moral stain.
Yet in his own country, where republicanism has been
identified with revolution, there has been no man, with
of course one exception, against whom so much ill has
been spoken by republicans ; and he had borne from
them, for many of the last years of his life as a statesman,
the incessant sting of calumny. In resuming at its close,
therefore, the story of a short-lived repubHc, he found
before him the moral of the creed which for sixty years
had been his private and his pubhc enemy. Not for this
reason, however, which his true scholar's spirit would
disown, did he then, after the storm of his active life was
over, return to the study of the revolution which earliest
had engaged his attention ; but because, unlike that in
18 THE OLD ENGLISH REPUBLICANS. \OUver
progress and still undetermined in France, it was in itself
complete, it admitted of a perfect scrutiny, and it offered
the fairest prospect of historical instruction. The History
of the Commonwealth and Cromivell is the second of the
four parts into which he divides it (the third heing that of
Richard Cromwell, of which by the favour of M. Guizot,
the early portion is also before us) ; and remembering
that the very pulse of its author's life beats in it, we
may well be surprised to find its stroke so regular and
calm.
Far from reviling our historical republicans, whose
high-minded endeavours he has quite nobility enough to
understand, M. Guizot points out that the experiment
they made was not in their time associated with any of
those ideas of mere revolt and lawlessness which have
lately been connected with such attempts. Under
honourable forms only, as in Italy, Switzerland, or the
Netherlands, was republican government then known ;
and the attempt to convert the English Monarchy into a
Republic, was, to put his idea into plain words, such an
experiment as decent men might put their hands to. In
the eyes of continental nations it had also a religious
aspect ; and though he believes it, as a republican move-
ment, to have been a mistake, he not the less believes,
that, but for the violence necessarily incident to the
transition from a kingdom to a commonwealth, the scheme
might have been a successful one. But, in his judgment,
a republic founded upon revolution finds its works soon
clogged by that property in its founders, which, calling
itself and thinking itself republican zeal, is in reality
nothing but revolutionary obstinacy.
Thus, as might have been expected, M. Guizot is too
accurate a thinker to condemn wholly as theory that
scheme of government, in the formal establishment of
which both England and France, each in its own manner
and degree, have up to this time failed, but not a few of
whose most practical and substantial results have never-
theless been left to both countries. Every way worthy
of notice, indeed, is the reflection with which he opens
the third section of his labours, when, in the narrative
of E/ichard CromweU and his troubles, following upon
Cromivell.~\ worthiness of their design. 19
that of Eichard's father and his triumphs, he is about to
relate the career of the revived Long Parliament. A
Bepuhlic, he argues, when it is, among any people, the na-
tural and true result of its social state, of its ideas and of
its manners, is a Government worthy of all S5rmpathy
and respect. It may have its vices, theoretical and prac-
tical; but it honours and serves humanity, which it
stimulates to the healthy gathering up of its higher
energies and moral forces, and can lift to a very lofty
degree of dignity and virtue, of prosperity and glory.
Not so with a Republic untimely and factitious, foreign
to the national history and manners, introduced by the
egotism of faction, and sustained by the pride that is
begotten of it. He holds this to be a government de-
testable in itself, because full of falsehood and violence ;
and having also the deplorable consequence, that it dis-
credits in the minds of nations the principles of political
right and the guarantees of liberty, by the false applica-
tion and tyrannical use they are put to, or by the hypo-
critical violation they are made to suffer. Though hostile,
therefore, to all crude attempts at the establishment of
a Republic, no unfair measure is dealt out by the
French statesman to our republican forefathers. That
they should, after all, have failed principally because
their hopes were pitched too high, is not a fact which
such a man can dismiss with indifference, whatever his
sense of the needs of practical statesmanship may be.
He rather. Frenchman as he is, rejoices to show them to
us with Mazarin hat in hand before them ; spurning the
fair outside of civility with which the wily French-Italian
would have approached them ; and finally bringing him
to a frank submission, while the Queen Mother Henrietta,
standing by his side, gnashes her teeth at his enforced
recognition of '' these infamous traitors."
In illustration of the kind of men whom the traitors
sought out for employment, too, there stands a somewhat
memorable record in their Council Book, which we can
conceive appealing to M. Guizot with the same sort of
interest it still possesses for Englishmen, notwithstanding
his too manifest predilection for those powers only " which
" are based upon right and sanctioned by time.'* It is
the official notice of Sir Harry Yane's and Mr. Henry
0 2
20 MILTON AND THE COUNCIL. [OHver
Marten's risit, one March evening in 1649, armed with
the authority of the Council of State of which they were
members, to " the lodging of Mr. John Milton, in a small
" house in Holbom, which opens backwards into Lincoln's
*' Inn Fields, to speak to Mr. Milton, to know. Whether
" he will be employed as Secretary for the Foreign
*' Languages ? and to report to the Council." One of
the first declarations of that Council had been that they
would neither write to other States, nor receive answers,
but in the tongue which was common to all countries, and
fittest to record great things, the subject of future history ;
and hence the visit to the small house in Holborn. We
may feel quite sure that M. Guizot would think none
the worse of the Council for this little circumstance:
though we cannot quite satisfy ourselves as to the autho-
rity with which he describes the Lord Protector, in later
days, eager to profit by Milton's genius and ascendancy,
and continuing to employ the talents left at his disposal
by the Government he displaced, but putting no faith in
the wisdom of their wondrous possessor ; supplying him
with funds to afi'ord liberal hospitaHty, at his house and
table in Whitehall, to such foreign men of letters as came
to visit England, but, while chief of the State, admitting
him into no personal intimacy, and studiously withhold-
ing from him all public influence. Such may have been
the relations of Milton and Cromwell; but we do not
know the authority on which the statement rests, and
what we do know of the circumstances attending the
interference for the Yaudois would lead us to entertain
very considerable doubts of it.
Milton is M. Guizot's ideal of the highest of the repub-
lican statesmen, grand but unpractical. He depicts him
revelhng in a dream of liberty, and taking pleasure as a
poet in sublime thoughts and majestic words, without
inquiring whether every- day life held within it any answer
to such aspirations. In his case, according to M. Guizot,
abstract reasoning so far misguided a noble heart,' a
passionate and dreamy intellect, as to render his wisdom
of less service than it miorht have been in the actual
1 " Un noble coeur," says M. Guizot. "A stern hat noble heart,
says his translator.
Cromwell.'] glory of the commonwealth. 21
conduct of affairs. And as with him, so in less degree
with the other statesmen of the Commonwealth — scho-
lastic, theoretical repubKcans ; in their way, too, in regard
to much they took in hand, mere high-minded dreamers ;
and possessed, according to a foolish homely phrase, of
every sense but common sense. Yet it is the belief of
M. Gfuizot, that with a dignified reserve and an intelli-
gent prudence these adventurous statesmen entered upon,
and for the most part discharged, their work. The
country coldly supported them, indeed, and abroad they
were detested ; nevertheless, as they well knew, they
were not menaced, and they had otherwise much upon
their side. They included men of spotless integrity, such
as Sydney, Ludlow, Bradshaw, Marten, Hutchinson, and
Harrington ; they could boast of men of the highest ad-
ministrative ability, such as Henry Yane ; they had in
their service Eobert Blake, a man of the noblest stuff of
which English heroism is made ; they were impassioned
on behalf of their cause ; and they were swayed through-
out by no meaner or less exalted interest than that of
seeing it triumph. The cause itself, too, though *' peu
" sensee et antipathique au pays," was noble and moral ;
for the principles presiding over it were a faith in truth,
and an affectionate esteem for humanity, respect for its
rights, and the desire for its free and glorious develop-
ment. Nor did they fail to accompKsh, in the main
successfully, the task intrusted to them. They had de-
clared upon assuming power that they would vindicate
their country's ancient right to the sovereignty of the
seas, and they did not rest till it was done. They had
virtually subdued the Dutch, had humbled the Portuguese
and the Danes, and, hated as they were upon the Con-
tinent, on all the other European States they had imposed
peace, at the period of their fall. Before power was wrested
from them, they had used it to correct not a little of the
injustice and inequality which remained to be redressed
in the domestic administration, and they had shown
singular and indisputable financial ability. But the his-
torian thinks it was also incident to their very position
that many errors should be committed, and that a too
prolonged enjoyment of power in the midst of chaos
should prove disastrous to some among themselves. And
22 FATE or THE REPUBLIC. [OUver
he shows, from the secret correspondence of the agents
of Mazarin, what a number of people there were in the
City who resembled a certain respectable merchant and
news-writer, Mr. Morrell, eager for any sort of change,
tired of a multiplicity of masters, and ready to hope better
things from one than from a hundred. We want greater
secrecy, wrote the thrifty Mr. Morrell, more promptitude,
less speechifying, more work. In a word, three great
causes were surely and steadily conspiring to the fall
of the republic. There was matter both corrupt and
obstructive in its lower divisions ; there was a nation,
reverent of law, heavily and surely swaying back to
monarchy ; and, worse than all, the very heart of the
republican ranks held within it a leader in their army,
a man mighty in battle, the main support of the Com-
monwealth itself, born with an instinct of command, born
with a genius for government, eminently practical, and
utterly unscrupulous. That is M. Guizot's Cromwell.
A man who had the pitiless sagacity to see the worth
of an enemy only to recognise the necessity of at once
putting him out of the way, he was able not less, in the
judgment of the French historian, to conceal effectually
his own pride and pretensions, and carry exposed upon
his sleeve only an irresistible semblance of self-denial.
" No great man," exclaims M. Guizot, " ever carried the
** hypocrisy of modesty so far as Cromwell, or so easily
" subordinated his vanity to his ambition." So little also
can M. Guizot discover of system in his mind, so little
does he find him under the influence of preconceived
ideas of any kind, that he believes him to have had no
really fixed principles at all on questions civil or religious.
But, though he was not a philosopher, and did not act
in obedience to systematic and premeditated views, he
was guided by the superior instinct and practical good
sense of a man destined by the hand of God to govern ;
and he possessed, above all, the consummate secret of
the governing art which consists in a just appreciation of
what will be sufiicient in every given circumstance, and
in resting satisfied with that. He had, moreover, an
unerring instinct of the drift of the people by which
he brought them to his side ; and the historian thinks
it an extreme proof of the relations he maintained, and
Cromwell.'] the protector and the cardinal. 23
the hopes he inspired, among persons of all ranks and
creeds, that he should have been able to suggest himself
as their best resource, not simply to sectaries of all sorts,
— Unitarians, Jews, Muggletonians, and Freethinkers,
but even to Roman Catholics and Episcopalians. Giving
credit to the earliest reports which represent him as by
councils and conversations feeling his way towards the
dignity of King, it was yet, according to M. Guizot, his
rare faculty throughout to understand the ne quid nimis
in the art of government ; and acting upon it, bitter as
the trial was, he finally denied himself the Crown. He
possessed, says the historian, the two qualities that make
men great. He was sensible, and he was bold ; indomitable
in his hopes, yet never the victim of illusion.
What is thus said of the absence of system in Crom-
well's ambition, let us remark, finds such striking illus-
tration in a passage of the Cardinal de Retz's Memoirs,
that we are surprised it should have escaped M. Guizot.
Having occasion to quote the description, from that very
clever book, of Yane's secret mission from Cromwell and
the Council of State immediately after the victory of
Worcester, when the Cardinal found the envoy a man of
such *' surprising capacity," ' the historian should not have
laid down the volume, we think, without reproducing
from a somewhat later page one of the shrewdest of all
its hints for statesmen, embodied in the following memo-
rable dialogue. The Cardinal is talking, during Crom-
well's protectorate, with the First President of the Parlia-
ment of Paris, M. de Bellievre. " I understand you,"
says the President at a particular point of their argument,
" and I stop you at the same time to tell you what I have
" learnt from Cromwell." (M. de Bellievre, interposes
the Cardinal, had seen and known him in England.)
" He said to me one day, that One never mounted so high
" as ivhen one did not know ichere one was going.'' AYhere-
upon says the Cardinal to the President, *' You know
" that I have a horror of Cromwell ; but, however great
1 An admission, we may observe, down to the last and best edition
of -whicli the French editors have of MM. Michard and Foujoiilat,
hitherto done their best to deprive which restores the suppressed pas-
the great English republican by in- sages, and from which we quote),
variably printing his name (even as Vairc^ Vere, or Vainc.
24 AMBITION WITHOUT A PLAN. \_Oliver
" a man tliey may think him, I add to this horror, con-
" tempt ; for if that be his opinion, he seems to me to be
" a fooL" The Cardinal proceeds to tell ns that he
reports this dialogue, which is nothing in itself, to make
us see the importance of never speaking of people who
are in great posts. For Monsieur the President, return-
ing to his cabinet where there were several people,
repeated the remark without reflection, as a proof of the
injustice which was done their friend the Cardinal when
it was said that his ambition was without measure and
without bounds. All which was straightway carried off
to my Lord Protector of England, who remembered it
with bitterness ; and took occasion not long after to say
to M. de Bordeaux, the Ambassador of France at his
Court, / know only one man in the world who despises me,
and that is Cardinal de Retz. " This opinion," adds the
penitent Cardinal, " had very nearly cost me dear.''
The truth is, that Cromwell's remark by no means
deserved the contemptuous comment of De Eetz. It is
not at all so necessary, as the Cardinal appears to think,
that a man who is about to mount high should have
systematically arranged beforehand to what exact height
he shall mount. It may be true, that in all ambitious
men there will necessarily be some calculation, and
something of a preconceived plan ; but it may be fairly
doubted whether to constitute such a man of the first
order, there must not also be a yet larger amount of
passion to outstrip and go beyond the calculation. In
short, to whatever extent particular plans and arrange-
ments may contribute intermediately to success, it must
ever be a condition of the highest success not to be finally
bound by them. Between the fixity of all men's designs
and the uncertainty of their destiny, there is an interval
so large and vague, that it is there the highest order of
genius will probably most often find its occasions and
means, its power and opportunity ; and we think it very
certain that wherever the highest has been reached to
which it was possible to attain, the courage to undergo
a risk must at least have been as great as the patience
to profit by a plan. We go farther in Cromwell's case,
for we are very certain he began with no plan at all, but a
zeal for what he honestly believed to be Gfod's truth, and
Cromwell,'] early life of oliver. 25
for the establishment of a government that should he
according to God's will.
Who that is at all acquainted with his entire history-
will believe, that when the final summons of array reached
him, he knew, as he buckled on his sword, whither he
was going ? He had lived for nearly forty years the
useful unassuming life from which parliamentary duties
first called him away, cultivating his native acres in the
Eastern fens, tilling the earth, reading his Bible, assist-
ing persecuted preachers, and himself kneeling daily with
his servants around him in exhortation and prayer.
When he went up with Hampden to take his seat in the
Long Parliament, he was by birth a gentleman, as he
described himself ten years later to the first parliament
of the Protectorate, Hving at no great height, nor yet in
obscurity. He had not been without the means, that is,
of challenging distinction, if such had been his wish.
He had been dragged before the Privy Council ' without
claiming the honours of a martyr, and he had led an agita-
tion against the great lords of his county without aspiring
to the rewards of a hero. In resisting a particular grie-
vance, he had made himself the most popular and powerful
man in all that district of the fens ; but, satisfied when
the work was done, he had sought no further advantage
from the popularity and power acquired in doing it.
There is nothing so striking, in connection with Cromwell's
history, as the steady uniformity of the picture it presents,
of a man doing his duty in the station and offices of life to
which his duty has called him. JSTo new discovery we have
made, none that we have the chance of making, is likely
to disturb or unsettle that picture by a single adverse
trait. As he appears to us everywhere else, when honestly
reported, we found him lately when the blotted page of
D'Ewes revealed its secrets to us. There is never any
fussy activity about him, and no superfluous energy. We
see always the least possible of himself. There is nothing
over- anxious or restless, or that interferes for an instant
with the sole straightforward purpose of arriving in the
1 This curious and hitherto un- that most intelligent and able of
known incident in his career was antiquaries, Mr. John Bruce, and by
lately discovered in a search among him communicated to the Athenceum
the registers of the Privy Council by of the 13th of October, 1855.
JJ6 CAKEER OF THE LORD GENERAL. \_Oliver
shortest and most effectual manner at tlie point he desires
to reach. Certainly this, too, is uniformly the character of
his early exploits in the war. All that appears essential
to him is that he must actually do the work he has in
hand, and to this he is bent exclusively. When, in con-
versation with his cousin Hampden at the close of the first
doubtful year of the conflict, he threw out the remark which
contained the germ of all his subsequent victories, who will
believe that his thoughts were travelling beyond the duty
and necessity of the hour ? His experience in the field
had taught him why it was the royalists gained upon
their adversaries in battle, and he at once declared that
it would not do to go on enlisting " poor tapsters and
" town- apprentice people " against well-born cavaliers ;
but that, to cope with men of honour, men of religion
must be enrolled. When he expressed this design to
Hampden, it might be said that, on the instant, the whole
issue of the war was determined ; but is it necessary to
suppose him carrying his own thoughts so far ? When
ho proceeded to organise his God-fearing regiment of
Ironsides, is it conceivable that he cared, or was troubled
to anticipate, to what a destiny they might bear himself ?
Clarendon has made it a reproach against him, that on
one occasion he said he could tell what he would itot
have, but not what he would have ; but was not this only
another expression of the thought, that he had no concern
but the duty of the hour, no wish but to do it in the hour,
and that he knew not and cared not whither it might
lead him ?
As time went on, indeed, as he commanded armies,
won battles, and saw himself indisputably the first soldier
and captain in the war, to direct and govern men became
clearly as much a part of his no longer avoidable duty, as
any commonest avocation that had occupied him on his
Ely farm. With this, too, let it also be admitted, there
must of course have opened upon him that wider range of
worldly opportunities to which, whether they shape them-
selves to ambition, or any other inclination of the mind, it
is so easy to give the name, or to make available under
the sanction, of duty itself. Doubtless to many such
temptations Cromwell yielded. In his religious creed he
is said (we must confess on what seems to us very doubt-
Cromwell,'] "our chief of men." %t
ful authority) to have held the somewhat dangerous
doctrine, that having once heen in a state of grace it was
not possible to fall from it ; and from time to time, if
this were so, it must insensibly have relaxed to him even
the restraints of religion itself. But that there was any
conscious hypocrisy in his language, or any settled scheme
of mere ambition in his conduct, we find it difiicult to
believe. Higher and higher as he was mounting, still to
the last he might have asked himself — Whither ? When,
at the close of the war, he appears heaped with all the
favours a grateful people and parliament could bestow,
there is yet not one which had not fallen to him naturally,
or that it would not have been monstrous as well as
foolish to deny to him. Every step of the ascent had
been solidly and laboriously won ; he stood upon it as of
right ; and surely no man ever rose so high with less of
what we must call usurpation. In the honours paid to
him, in the very trappings of state thrown over him, when
he left London upon his last campaign and returned with
the final victory, there was not a man in the popular
ranks, of however rigid and ascetic public virtue, who
might not feel that he was also himself participating as
in a gain and glory of his own. When the Lord General
passed out of the city in his coach, drawn by six gallant
Flanders mares, whitish gray, and " with colonels for
*' his life guard such as the world might not parallel," —
it may be very doubtful if less would have satisfied the
most exacting republican, whose claims and whose power
he then and there represented. When he returned in a
more than regal triumph, receiving homage from the
populace, halting to hawk with the gentry, and present-
ing horses and prisoners to the parliamentary delegates
appointed to give him welcome, — it was yet but the
glory of their common country which all men were con-
tent to see reflected, in the ceremony and the pomp which
surrounded him.
Should it be matter of blame, then, that still he rose to
the occasion which called him, and that even this position
did not take him unawares ? As he farmed at Ely and
St. Ives, as he fought at Marston Moor and Naseby, so
now he fell into his allotted place as Milton's " chief of
'' men." Such is the sum of reproach with any fairness
28 SELF-CREATED SOVEREIGNTYi \Oliver
up to this date to be imputed to him. " This man will
" be King of England yet," said the Eev. Mr. Peters
inwardly to himself, as he observed at the time, in his
air and manner, an indescribable kind of exaltation. Sir
Philip Warwick afterwards observed it too ; and, being
entirely at a loss to reconcile so " great and majestic a
" deportment and comely presence " with what he re-
membered of his very ill-made apparel, and not very
clean or sufficient linen, when he first heard him speak in
the parliament-house twelve years before, is much disposed
to attribute the change to the fact of his having mean-
while " had a better tailor and more converse among
" good company." The same difficulty occurs even to
Clarendon, who more shrewdly dismisses it with the re-
mark, that " his parts seemed to be raised, as if he had
" concealed his faculties till he had occasion to use them."
But we shall not ourselves have any difficulty at all, if
we simply believe, of such a man, that only the occasion
for use would ever tempt him to the assumption or dis-
play. A readiness for the duty of the hour, and no rest-
lessness beyond it, would seem to be the lesson of Crom-
well's life, whatever part of it we examine ; and if we
think the forcible dissolution of the Long ParHament an
interruption to the temperate wisdom which generally
guided him (and here, we must distinctly state, we difier
strongly from Mr. Carlyle), it is because we feel that with-
out it the supreme power must nevertheless have been
his, unattended by the difficulties in which the conse-
quences of that act involved him. At the very last, he
said himself, he was doubtful about doing it ; but another
and stronger impulse got the mastery over him. " When
" I went there," he told his council of officers, " I did
" not think to have done this. But perceiving the spirit
" of God so strong upon me, I would not consult ilesh
" and blood." And so we arrive again at what he told
Monsieur the President de Bellievre, that One never
mounts so high as when one does not know ivhere one is
going.
But M. Guizot would attach little importance to that
stronger impulse which the Lord General there professed
to have over-ruled him. We do not know that anything
has impressed us more throughout his book than its
Cromwell. 1 religious element in revolution. 29
extremely partial and imperfect recognition of the reli-
gious element, which formed so large a portion not merely
of Cromwell himself, but of the entire English Eevolution.
Doubtless it arises from the fact that this element, so
necessary in the study of it, lies too far away from those
evils which dwell insensibly and most strongly upon the
historian's mind, and from which his study of these great
events in our history had deHberately or unconsciously
arisen. He is even careful to hint his belief, more than
once, that there were in those days more infidels in
England than we commonly suppose. It is curious to
contrast his view in this respect with that of another
French writer, M. de Lamartine, who, regarding Crom-
well from the thick of French republicanism, has very
partially and confusedly (but as he believes wholly) ac-
cepted Mr. Carlyle's interpretation, and informs his
countrymen that Cromwell was a fanatic. M. Guizot,
himself a man of calm unostentatious piety, and not
unfrequently reminding his readers that a Divine Provi-
dence is ordering and disposing the affairs of States, yet
cannot see in Cromwell either fanatic or chosen man of
God. In no part of his history of Oliver do we find any
swerving from this view, and subsequent reflection appears
only to have confirmed him in it. In the whole of his
account of Richard CromweU there is no more striking
passage than that in which, describing the respective
positions occupied by the followers of Oliver and the ad-
vocates of the Republic, he again expresses forcibly the
distinction between the purely worldly character of the
Protectorate and the Divine purpose it was called to ful-
fil. The Cromwellians under Richard, he says, rather
by experience and political instinct than by any principle
clearly comprehended or defined, would forcibly have
imposed upon the people the second Protectorate, on the
ground that they did not hold the people to be itself
sufficient to constitute the entire Government, or to possess
the right to unmake and reconstruct it at its pleasure. In
their opinion the Government requu-ed, for the main-
tenance and good order of societ}^, some base independently
subsistent, recognised by the people, but anterior, and in
a certain degree superior, to its shifting will. Originally
conquest, afterwards the hereditary principle in monarchy,
30 OLIVER PROTECTOR. \^Olwer
and tlie preponderance of great landowners, liad created
in the English. Government such power, independent in
itself, immovable in right, and indispensable to society.
By the course of things, however, the territorial proprie-
torship had in part changed hands, and, by its own faults,
the hereditary principle of monarchy had succumbed.
But God then raised up Oliver, and gave him the power
with the victory. Conqueror and actual master, sur-
rounded by his comrades in war, and treating with a
House elected by the people, he had been able to found,
for his successor as for himself, the Protectorate and its
Constitution ; and thus was provided that anterior and
independent power, born of events, not of the people's
will, and which the people should be held as little able
to destroy according to its fancy, as it had been able of
its motion to create. This great fact, therefore, accom-
plished upon the ruins of the ancient monarchy, and in
the name of necessity, by the genius of a great man sus-
tained by God, it became the duty of all men to recognise
and accept ; and, from the uniform tone of M. Guizot's
argument, it is manifest that he would himself so have
accepted it, though he sees that it carried with it also the
seeds of failure inseparable from its revolutionary origin.
How otherwise, he reasons, could it be ? The weak
purpose of Richard being substituted for his father's iron
will, every party again became loud in the assertion of his
own particular theory ; " accomplices became rivals ; "
and soon, in the stormy sea of faction, the good ship of
the Republic drifted an utter wreck. Then were seen,
according to the historian, the faults of both divisions, of
the pure republicans and of the adherents of Cromwell,
revenging themselves upon their authors. For, what
more easy than the way at last appeared to be, to a firm
establishment of Richard Cromwell's government? What-
ever his infirmities of character, he was disliked by none.
Golden opinions were expressed of him by all sorts of
people ; and the whole private interest of the members of
his first Parliament lay in the assurance of his power,
and with that also of their own prosperity. His Govern-
ment had no design and no desire of tyranny ; Richard
himself was naturally moderate, patient, equitable ; and
his counsellors, like himself, demanded nothing better
Cromwell.~\ ideal of his protectorate. »3l
than to govern in concert with the Parliament, and ac-
cording to the laws. What, then, so natural or so
reasonable, as for all men who had not vowed their
hearts to the old royal line or to the pure republic, to
accommodate themselves to the regime established, and to
live, by common consent, tranquil and safe under the new
Protector ? But it was not to be. Though their empire
had vanished, their obstinacy remained unenlightened and
unsubdued. Decried as visionaries, they retorted by ac-
cusing their country of ingratitude, and battled vainly
against the successive defeats which they knew not that
the hand of God was inflicting. But though they could
not build they could destroy, and so the second Protec-
torate passed away.
We have thus endeavoured to exhibit the process of
reasoning by which M. Guizot has arrived at his judgment
of the two Protectorates. We by this means not un-
fairly show, at the same time, the measure and degree to
which he has been able to exclude, from the consideration
of both, that particular element in Cromwell's idea of
Government which led him, in the re-constitution of the
State with a view to its bequest to his successor, to be indif-
ferent whether it was republican or monarchical in its
form, provided only that, above all things, it was godly
in its spirit. Yet a sound and true perception in this
respect might have led the historian to more just con-
clusions as to opinions held generally by Cromwell, in
regard not only to his system of rule during life, but to the
succession he desired to leave after him. Upon a close ex-
amination it would be found, we suspect, that Cromwell's
true ideal was among the Jewish forms of government
disclosed by the Sacred Book, even such as showed, in the
midst of the petty kings of Moab and Edom, the free people
of Israel, without a king, living majestically. The grand
old Hebrew Judges would be perhaps his nearest model.
But his historian will not recognise anything of this. M.
Guizot thinks his mind was great, because it was just,
perspicacious, and thoroughly practical ; but of this great-
ness he does not find that religion formed an essential
part, or contributed to it in any material way. He avoids,
indeed, all common-place abuse. He knows that in
Cromwell's day the open use of scriptural language wat
32 STATE-CRAFT OR PERSONAL PIETY ? \JDliver
no more synonymous with cant, than republicanism with
discord ; but in both cases he appears to think that the
one had a tendency to beget the other, and he accepts
Cromwell's reported comment to Waller on a dialogue
with one of the saints ('* we must talk to these men in
" their own way "), as a fair hint of the value of his piety.
It was no more than one portion, and not the chief, of
his state craft. Even the rapt and exalted fervour of his
address to what we may call the assembled saiuts in the
Barebones Parliament, M. Guizot attributes to those
instincts on the part of a profound genius which mark his
anxiety to derive, as though immediately from God, the
pretended supreme power which he had himself esta-
blished, and the inherent infirmity of which he already
perceived. We certainly cannot but regard as extremely
remarkable the grave indifference with which the French
historian is thus able to set aside, as only one of many
means towards a worldly end, the fervent vein of scrip-
tural thought and feeling which runs not alone through
every deliberate work of Cromwell's, but tinges also his
every Hghtest act, and, in his private as in his public
utterances, is that which still makes most impressive
appeal to all who would investigate his character.
For, this we hold to have been finally established by
Mr. Carlyle, and to constitute the peculiar value of his
labours in connection with the subject. To collect and
arrange in chronological succession, and with elucidatory
comment, every authentic letter and speech left by
Cromwell, was to subject him to a test from which false-
hood could hardly escape; and the result has been to
show, we think conclusively and beyond further dispute,
that through all these speeches and letters one mind runs
consistently. Whatever a man's former prepossessions
may have been, he cannot accompany the utterer of these
speeches, the writer of these letters, from their first page
to the last, travelling with him from his grazing lands at
St. Ives up to his Protector's throne ; watching him in
the tenderest intercourse with those dearest to him ;
observing him in affairs of state or in the ordinary
business of the world, in offices of friendship or in con-
ference with sovereigns and senates ; listening to him as
he comforts a persecuted preacher, or threatens a perse-
Cromwell.'] peoofs of a profound sincerity. 33
cuting prince ; and remain at last with any other con-
viction than that in all conditions, and on every occasion,
Cromwell's tone is substantially the same, and that in
the passionate fervour of his religious feeling, under its
different and varying modifications, the true secret of his
life must be sought, and will be found. Everywhere
recognisable is the sense, deeply interpenetrated with his
nature and life, of spiritual dangers, of temporal vicissi-
tudes, and of never-ceasing responsibility to the Eternal.
" Ever in his Great Taskmaster's eye." Unless you can
believe that you have an actor continually before you,
you must believe that this man did unquestionably
recognise in his Bible the authentic voice of God;
and had an irremovable persuasion that according as,
from that sacred source, he learned the divine law
here and did it, or neglected to learn and to do it, infinite
blessedness or infinite misery hereafter awaited him for
evermore.
It is also clear to us from the letters, with only such
reservation as we have already intimated, and after the
large allowance to be made in every case for human
passion and frailty, that Cromwell was, to all practical
intents, as far removed on the one hand from fanaticism,
as, on the other, from hypocrisy. It is certainly not
necessary that we should accept it as proof of fanaticism,
that, on the day before setting out to the war with Scot-
land, he enlarged to Ludlow upon the great providences
of God then abroad upon the earth, and in particular
talked to him for almost an hour upon the hundred and
tenth psalm. We have but to remember it as the psalm
in which God's promise was given to make his enemies
his footstool, to make his people willing, and to strike
through kings in the day of his wrath, — to understand
why Cromwell so recalled it on the eve of his last entrance
into battle. It is as little necessary that we should accept,
as proof of hypocrisy, the proof M. Guizot offers of his
rejecting, and even ridiculing, the report set about by the
fanatical officers after the dissolution of the Parliament,
to the effect that he had undergone special and superna-
tural revelations. " The reports spread about the Lord
" General," writes M. de Bordeaux to M. deBrienne, are
" not true. He does not affect any special communication
34 TOLERATION FOR ALL RELIGIONS. [OHver
*' with the Holy Spirit, and he is not so weak as to he
*' caught hy flattery. I know that the Portuguese am-
" hassador having complimented him on this change,
" he made a jest of it." But the French ambassador
does not omit to accompany his statement with a careful
tribute to the Lord GeneraFs zeal and great piety. Nor
do we think M. Guizot justified in the belief he appears '
to entertain, that CromwelFs toleration of differences in
religion proceeded from the merely politic spirit, and was
due only to his wisdom as a ruler of men. To his pro-
found knowledge of the art of government may indeed be
referred such projects as were started in the Protectorate,
— for a Synod to bring the different sects into peaceful
agreement, for ensuring a complete legal toleration to the
Jews, and for receiving in England even a bishop of the
Church of Pome to preside over the religious communion
of the Catholics. But, from the depth of true piety in
his own soul, must have proceeded that larger personal
charity, which was so ready, with listening ear and help-
ing hand, for any form of honest belief that claimed from
him sympathy and protection. Let any one read his
noble correspondence with the governor of Edinburgh
Castle, when, having defeated the army of the Covenant
in battle, he proceeded in argument to overthrow its
preachers, — and entertain any further doubt of this if he
can. Those are the incomparable letters in which he
reasoned out a perfect scheme of sublime toleration ; in
which he vindicated the execution of Charles Stuart as
an act which Christians in after times would mention
with honour, " and all tyrants in the world look at with
'^ fear ; " in which he warned the Presbytery that their
platform was too narrow for them to expect " the great
*' God to come down " to such minds and thoughts ; in
which he told them that he had not himself so learned
Christ as to look at ministers as the lords over, instead
of helpers of, God's people; and in which he desired
them specially to point out to him the warrant they had
in Scripture for believing that to preach was their function
exclusively. " Your pretended fear lest error should
" step in, is like the man who would keep all the wine
" out of the country lest men should be drunk. It will
" be found an unjust and unwise jealousy to deprive a
Cromwell. ~\ scene in ely cathedral. 85
" man of Ms natural liberty upon a supposition lie may
*' abuse it. When be doth abuse it, judge." And tben,
within some six months or so, Edinburgh having mean-
while surrendered, and the Presbytery, recovered from
its sulks, having accepted permission fr'om him again to
open its pulpits, you see this same Cromwell respectfully
. attending their services and sermons, and taking no other
notice of the latter being specially directed against him-
self and his fellow "sectaries,'' than to desire friendly
discourse with the ministers who had so railed against
them, to the end that, if possible, misunderstandings
might be taken away.
Neither had Cromwell, before he evinced this spirit,
waited until authority fell to him as Lord General, at
which time, in M. Guizot's view, considerations altogether
politic and worldly began largely to operate with him.
There is a very remarkable letter decisive as to this,
which the Gentleman^ s Magazine first published three-
quarters of a century ago, but which Mr. Carlyle has been
able both to confirm as authentic and to adjust to the
right place in his Hfe, — the year after the battle of Naseby.
Not long before the date of it, he had entered Ely cathe-
dral while the Reverend Mr. Hitch was " performing "
the choir service ; and, with a " leave off your fooling , and
" come dotcn, sir/' had turned the reverend gentleman
sheer out of the place, intoning, singing, and all. But
this was because Sir. Hitch had become a nuisance to a
godly neighbourhood, and had treated with dehberate
disregard a previous warning of OHver's to the very
plain and legible effect, that, " lest the soldiers should in
" any tumultuous or disorderly way attempt the reform a-
" tion of the cathedral church, I require you to forbear
" altogether your choir service, so un edifying and offen-
" sive ; and this, as you shall answer it, if any disorder
" should arise thereupon." And notwithstanding the
prompt procedure by which he kept his word in this
case, he shows himself, in the letter we have named and
are now about to quote, not less ready to protect any
honest people differing completely from himself in regard
to choir or other services, provided always they so exer-
cised their unedifying faith as not to be offensive to
others. He intercedes with a Royalist gentleman, in the
D 2
36 THOUGHTS OF A HERO. [OHver
adjoining (Norfolk) county, for liberty of conscience to
certain of his tenants. " And,'^ lie writes, "however the
" world interprets it, I am not ashamed to solicit for such
" as are anywhere under pressure of this kind ; doing
" even as I Avould be done by. Sir, this is a quarrelsome
" age, and the anger seems to me to be the worse, where
" the ground is difference of opinion ; which to cure, to
" hurt men in their names, persons, or estates, will not be
" found an apt remedy.'* Over and over again he insists
and enlarges on these views. The very day after the
fight at Naseby he had repeated them, reminding the
Parliament of the honest men who had served it faithfully
in that fight, and beseeching it, in the name of God, not
to discourage them. " He that ventures his life for the
" liberty of his country, I wish he trust God for the
" liberty of his conscience, and you for the liberty he
" fights for." He started life with these thoughts, and
they remained with him to its close. Over and over
again he used the noble language which was nearly the
last he addressed to the last parliament that assembled
in his name. He would have freedom for the spirits and
souls of men, he said, because the spirits of men are the
men. The mind was the man. If that were kept pure
and free, the man signified somewhat ; but if not, he would
fain see what difference there was betwixt a man and a
beast. Nay, he had only some activity to do some
more mischief. Upon these principles he would have
established, and connected inseparably, Government and
Religion.
vThe religion which so teaches us our duty to others is
not very likely to fail us in regard to ourselves. Watch
Cromwell in any great crisis of his life, and judge whether
the faith he held could have rested on any doubtful or
insecure foundation. Take him at the moment of his
greatest triumph, or in the hour of his darkest peril, and
observe whether the one so unduly elates or the other so
unworthily depresses him, as to cause him to lose the sense
either of his own weakness or of his Creator's power,
either of the littleness of time or of the greatness of eter-
''li^y.-., I^ the very majesty of his reception after the
Worcester battle, "he would seldom mention anything
** of himself," says Whitelocke, describing their meeting
CromwelLj the pillar of fihe. 87
at Aylesbury; " mentioned others only; and gave, as was
" due, the glory of tlie action unto God." In his last
extremity at Dunbar, when Lesley, with an army of
double his numbers, flushed with "sdctory, had so hemmed
him in with his sick, star^^ng, and dispiiited troops, as
they retreated and were falling back upon their ships,
that, to use his own expression, " almost a miracle " was
needed to save them, there is, in the tone of the letter he
sent to Haselrig on the Newcastle border, such a quiet
and composed disregard of himself, such a care only for
the safety of the cause, such a calm and sustained reliance
upon God, as we doubt if the annals of heroism can else-
where parallel. "Whatever becomes of us," he wrote,
" it will be well for you to get what forces you can
" together; and the South to help what they can. If
" your forces had been in readiness to have fallen upon
" the back of Copperspath, it might have occasioned sup-
" plies to have come to us. But the only wise God knows
*' what is best. All shall work for good. Our spirits
" are comfortable, praised be the Lord ; though our
" present condition be as it is. Let Henry Vane know
" what I write. I icould not make it public, lest danger
" should accrue thereby J*
Whatever else might desert this man, hope and faith
never did. There was o;ie who stood afterwards by his
death- bed, while a worse storm shook the heavens than
even that which had swept along the heights of Dunbar,
and who recalled these days in testimony of the strong
man he had been. " In the dark perils of war, in the
'* high places of the field, hope shone in him like a pillar
" of fire, when it had gone out in all the others." Nor
in the high places only, but in the solitude or service of
his chamber, he impressed in like manner all who had
intercourse with him. It was ever they who stood nearest
to him who had reason to admire him most ; and to the
eyes of his very valets and chamber-grooms, the heroic
shone out of Cromwell. It is from one who held such
office in his household we have a picture of him handed
down to us which Vandyke or Velasquez might have
painted. A body well compact and strong ; his stature
under six foot (*' I believe about two inches ") ; his head
so shaped as you might see it both a storehouse and shop,
38 CONTENTION WITH LONG PARLIAMENT. [OHveV
of a vast treasiiry of natural parts ; his temper exceeding
fiery (" as I have known ''), but the flame of it kept
down for the most part, or soon allayed with those moral
endowments he had ; naturally compassionate towards
objects in distress, even to an effeminate measure, though
God had made him a heart, wherein was left little room
for any fear ; " a larger soul, I thinlx, hath seldom dwelt in
" a house of clay than his was.'' What Englishman may
not be proud of that written portrait of Oliver Cromwell,
still fresh from the hand of worthy Mr. John Maidstone,
cofferer and gentleman-in- waiting on the Lord Protector
of England ?
Of the general estimate of him formed by the French
historian little more need be said. There is much we
might further make objection to ; but, compressed and
brief as our summary of M. Guizot^s views has been, it
will perhaps be understood with sufficient reservation.
He does not reject the stories of the Irish massacres,
though they are unwittingly refuted even by Cromwell's
most eager enemies, the Irish priests, in the Clonmacnoise
manifesto. He retains, on authority very decidedly ques-
tionable, a great many reports which would tend to
suggest ill thoughts of the Protector. But to the full
worldly extent of the term, his Cromwell, whether before
or after the Protectorate, is one of the great men of the
earth. He is under the influence of ambition, but it is
an ambition generally qualified, and often exalted, by the
state necessities to which it bends. The question that
so early arose between him and the Long Parliament,
M. Guizot calls the beginning of a duel, of which he holds
that neither party engaged therein could avoid forcing
it on to its close. Of one or the other, it became the
duty cedere majori; and, as we infer from his reasoning,
it could not but occur to the Parliament towards the close
of the struggle, while claiming over Cromwell a nominal
supremacy, to feel the sting of the last portion of the
epigram. Ilia gravis palma est, qiiam minor hostis hahet.
But while indicating thus where in his judgment the
pre-eminence lay, he might have added Cromwell's own
later admission of the merits and services of his adver-
saries. " They had done things of honour," he told hig
second House of Commons, " and things of necessity :
Cromwell.'] victor in the duel. 39
" things which, if at this day you have any judgment
" that there lieth a possibility upon you to do any good, I
" may say that you are all beholden to that Long Parlia-
" ment for." At the same time, let us remark, the French
historian's researches to illustrate this contention of
Cromwell and the republicans appear to establish very
clearly one point of considerable interest. He shows
decisively that Cromwell, before the republic fell by
his hand, was indisputably the first man, and acknow-
ledged to be the first man, in it ; not simply in right
of his victories, but by the administrative genius he
had displayed, and by the light in which the foreign
courts already regarded him. He fails himself, how-
ever, to attach sufiicient importance to this ; and perhaps
generally he somewhat underrates the influence and con-
nection of foreign policy with the domestic administration
of England at the period.
But the mistake, if it be one, does not stint the details
of foreign policy which M. Guizot gives. These open to
us the manuscript treasures of the Hague, and the un-
published archives of the French foreign office, as well as
of Simancas in Spain, and pour upon this part of his
great subject a flood of steady and original light. His
volumes thus include details of various confidential mis-
sions, and much other matter of the highest interest, of
which the most essential portions are given complete.
That we should always admit their evidence, in exactly
the light in which M. Guizot seems disposed to accept it,
we of course do not find to be necessary. Although both
M. CrouUe for France, and Don Alonzo de Cardenas
for Spain, express and act upon opinions of Cromwell
which agree generally with the judgment formed of his
character in M. Guizot's book, it may yet be said with
perfect fairness, that neither a gentleman from the court
of Philip lY, nor a gentleman representing a statesman
of the stamp of Mazarin, were very likely to understand
an exalted zeal like Cromwell's, taking it always for what
it claimed to be. Putting aside some few acts of policy,
however, perhaps justified by the distinction, which is
only too freely permitted, between private and political
morality, there is nothing in these new discoveries of
which any defender of Cromwell has need to be ashamed,
40 FRENCH PARTIES AND INTRIGUES. [OHver
and there is a vast deal to confirm very strikingly tlie
sense of his greatness.
"We give a few examples not in the histories. Before
the time of the Protectorate, by the chief statesmen of
both parties in the war of the Fronde then raging in
France, the upward course of the great leader of the
popular party in England had been watched with anxiety
and dread. Both feared and hated him ; yet such was
their position in regard to Spain, and each other, that his
friendly countenance to either was become of inexpres-
sible value. He had hardly arrived in London, after the
battle of Worcester, when, in answer to overtures from
De Retz at the instant of the brief triumph Avhich pre-
ceded that statesman's fall, he sent Henry Yane with a
letter to him (a striking proof that up to this time, that
" great parliamentarian and intimate confidant of his,"
as the Cardinal describes him, could have had no suspi-
cion of any blow meditated against the Parliament) ; and
this also is the date when Mazarin, afi'ecting to put a
friendly construction upon rumours that had reached him
of a proposed expedition of Cromweirs into France,
eagerly suggests to M. Croulle, through M. Servien, that
if at the close of his Scottish campaign " Mr. Cromwell
" should come into France, being as he is a pei'son of
" merit, he will be well received here, for assuredly every
" one will go to meet him at the place where he disem-
" barks." Of course M. Croulle promptly disabuses his
master of any notion of expecting that kind of neighbourly
visit ; but, in also contradicting the report that any hostile
intentions were entertained to France, he is careful to
reproduce for the Cardinal the haughty terms in which
Cromwell himself was said to have denied it. " Looking
" at his hair, which is already white. General Cromwell
" said that if he were ten years younger there was not a
" king in Europe whom he could not make to tremble ;
" and that, as he had a better motive than the late king
" of Sweden, he believed himself still capable of doing
" more for the good of nations than the other ever did
" for his own ambition."
Nevertheless, it was while overtures were on all sides
secretly going on, and still during De Retz's brief predo-
minance, that the double-faced Mazarin thus wrote from
Cromwell. "l cardinal and coadjutor outwitted. 41
his place of exile at BruU to discredit De Eetz with the
queen. It was probably written at the very moment
when the Coadjutor himself was attempting to justify his
intercourse with Yane, on the express ground of what he
calls Mazarin's ''base and continual flattery" of Cromwell.
" The Coadjutor has always spoken with veneration of
*' Cromwell, as of a man sent by God into England,
" saying that he would raise such men also in other
" kingdoms ; and once in good company, where there was
" Menage present, hearing the courage of M. de Beaufort
" extolled, he said in express terms, if 31. de Beaufort is
" Fairfax, I am Cromwell.'' A portion of M. Guizot's
comment (which we need hardly say we have translated
for ourselves) may be subjoined. " Mazarin excelled in
" poisoning, for the ruin of his enemies, their actions or
*' their words, and at the same time in taking to himself
" impudently their examples and their weapons. While
" he thus showed to the queen's eyes, as a crime in the
" Coadjutor, his opinion of Cromwell, he laboured him-
" self to enter with Cromwell into close relations. Too
" shrewd not to recognise that in that direction, in Eng-
*' land, lay the capacity and power,' it was to the future
*' master of the republic, no longer to the republican
" parliament, that he made his advances." To this, it is
needless to add, Cromwell lent himself willingly ; he was
too incessantly bent on making to himself powerful friends
everywhere ; and soon Mazarin was within the toils of a
subtler brain and stronger hand. " Mr. Cromwell adroitly
''leaves to others the conduct and care of whatever
" begets outcry," wrote, in 1650, CrouUe to M. Servien,
" and reserves to himself affairs that confer obligation ;
" concerning which at least he sets rumours afloat, in
" such manner that if they succeed they may be attri-
" buted to him, and if not that one may see he willed
" them well, and that the result came of hindrance from
" others." '
^ ^' Trop sagace pour ne pas re- " and ability then existing in Eng-
' ' connaitre que la etaient, en Angle- ' ' land. "
" iei're, Vhabilete et le pouvoir." 2 ^ letter to Mazarin from the
According to the translator, "Too Count d'Estrador is added, in which,
" sagacious not to perceive that in though the date is the 5th of Febru-
" him were centred all the power ary, 1652, the title of Protector is
43 EIYALRIES OF FRANCE AND SPAIN. \OUver
We cannot give all the details of the overtures that
thus began, curious and impressive as they are, but
through none of them, the reader at once perceives, was
Mazarin a match for Cromwell. The great soldier and
statesman, though with his own predilections hampered
by the prejudices of his country, and standing between
the intrigues of the rival Courts of France and Spain,
yet knew how to play his game with perfect safety,
and to obtain substantially all that he desired. All
through the negotiations that ensued, however, two
things are very obvious in his far-sighted policy. He had
not simply to adjust the balance in Europe, at that time
overweighted by France ; but he had to look to the safety
and stability of his own recently settled government, more
in danger from so near a neighbour as France, than from
one so distant as Spain. Here will be found the real
clue to his wonderful management of these two powers ;
and to the measures by which he had been able to estab-
lish so potent and singular an influence in the heart, and
over both the parties, of the neighbour kingdom. Up to
the time of the expulsion of the Long Parliament, no
alliance had been absolutely concluded with either France
or Spain ; though, at the moment of its expulsion, M.
Bordeaux was under the impression that a treaty with it,
on the part of the statesman he represented, was on the
point of being happily concluded. But already Mazarin
had been obliged, even without deriving any immediate
advantage from the step, formally to recognise the
Republic and its leaders ; and with hot haste, as soon as
the Long Parliament was dissolved, the Cardinal of course
easily betook himself to the power that remained trium-
phant. " Mazarin," writes M. Guizot, " always pro-
" digal of flattering advances, wrote to Cromwell to offer
" him, and ask from him, a serviceable friendship. Crom-
" well replied to him ^dth a rare excess of affected hu-
given to Cromwell. Of course tliere- note, or explain the confusion it was
fore M. Guizot is careful to remark, intended to remedy ; and in subse-
ina note, that as the letter and its quently giving the note of June '53,
date are beyond question, the title quoted in the text, he appends to
of Protector must have been inter- its signature the title (P.) which its
calated some years afterwards ; but very contents should have shown him
his translator does not think it did not then belong to the writer,
worth while either to translate this
Cromwell. "^ mazarin no match for Oliver. 43
" mility.'* And then follows a little note, concerning
wMcli Mr. Carlyle, believing it to exist only in the form
of a French translation made by Mazarin, remarked, that
" it would not be wholly without significance if we had
*' it in the original." Here it is in the original :
" Westminster^ 9th of June, 1653.
"It is surprise to me that your Eminency should take notice of a
person so inconsiderable as myself, living (as it were) separate from
the world. This honour has done (as it ought) a very deep impression
upon me, and does oblige me to serve your Eminency upon aU occa-
sions, so as I shall be happy to hnd out. So I trust that very honour-
able person Monsieur Burdoe [Bordeaux] will therein be helpful to
"Your Eminencie's
* ' Thrice humble Servant,
"0. Cromwell."
The historian calls this a rare excess of affected hu-
mility ; but, after all, what is there more in the counter-
feit humility, than such a reply to a compliment as
every gentleman in England makes every week in some
form to somebody. " You do me too much honour.
" There is nothing that I would not do to serve you, Sir.
" Good morning."
In truth, there is never any affected humility, but
rather a contempt very thinly covered, if not openly
avowed, from Cromwell to Mazarin ; nor does this find
anywhere more characteristic expression than in the
evidence the historian incidentally gives us of the sort of
gifts they interchanged. While Mazarin sent over regal
presents of tapestry, wine, and Barbary horses, Cromwell,
familiarly and half contemptuously confident that he had
to do with a man more avaricious than vain, would return
such compliments by forwarding so many cases of pure
Cornwall tin. As to their public intercourse throughout,
one sees that it was but a constant interchange of conces-
sions and resistances, services and refusals, in which they
ran little risk of quarrelling, for the simple reason that
they understood each other, and did not require, on either
hand, anything that could not be denied without doing
greater injury than the grant would do service ; but it
was after all a kind of equality in which the personal
predominance remained with Cromwell. It is he whom
it is manifestly impossible, throughout, either to intimidate
44 FOREIGN POLICY OF PROTECTOUATE. [OUver
or deceive ; and tliougli it was no small art on Mazarin's
side, as soon as lie saw this, to affect to meet his adver-
sary with the same simple frankness, there cannot be a
question which plays the greater figure, he who possessed
the art, or he who always reduced its possessor to the
necessity of practising it.
M. Guizot justly describes the foreign policy of Crom-
well as based on two fixed ideas, — peace with the United
Provinces and the alliance of the Protestant States. These
were, in his eyes, the two vital conditions of the security
and greatness of his country in Europe, of his own
security and his own greatness in Europe and in his
country. With the United Provinces, peace was at once
made ; Whitelocke was sent upon his embassy to Sweden ;
a special treaty of commerce was negotiated with the
King of Denmark; and Cromwell found himself on terms
of friendship with all Protestant States of Europe. In
France it was said that he even meditated, in the interests
of Protestantism, a more vast and difficult design.
" The Protector proposes to himself," wrote one of
Mazarin's confidential agents to his master the Cardinal,
" to cause the assembly of a council of all the Protestant
" communions, to re-unite them in one body for the
" common confession of one and the same faith." Some
particular facts indicate that Cromwell was, indeed, pre-
occupied with this idea. It was one of many such he
would fain have realised, and he reluctantly laid aside.
Well does M. Guizot describe him as one of those persons
of powerful and fertile genius in whom great designs and
great temptations are born by crowds : but who applied
promptly his firm good sense to his grandest dreams, and
never pursued farther those which did not stand that
trial. " He assumed towards the Catholic powers," the
French historian finely and characteristically continues,
" an attitude of complete and frigid independence, without
" prejudice or ill-will, but without forwardness, showing
" himself disposed to peace, but always leaving to be seen a
" glimpse of war, and carrying a rough pride into the care of
" the interests of his country or of his own greatness."
' We cannot resist giving M. translator. "II prit envers les
Guizot's text in this latter paragraph "puissances Catholiques uue atti-
ia conuexion with the version of his " tude complete et froide liberie,—
Cromwell. 1^ bidding high for an alliance. 45
One example of that rougli pride and immovable resolve
rises promptly to tlie mind. The King of Portugal was
stigmatised at Madrid as an usurper, but Cromwell, who
had received his ambassador, consented to sign a treaty
with him; and on the very day when the treaty was
signed, the ambassador's brother, Don Pantaloon de Sa,
who, under the plea of supposed immunity to members
of a foreign embassy, had committed a fatal outrage on
an English citizen, perished on a public scaffold at Tower
Hill. No man had believed that this would be, and the
fate of that Portuguese noble sent a thrill through Europe.
Shall we wonder that France and Spain outdid each other
in obsequious homage before such indomitable and intract-
able energy? We see, in the French histonan's page,
each bidding higher and higher against the other for his
active friendship, and Cardenas at last eagerly offering
him a subvention of not less than six hundred thousand
dollars a year, " without having in London or in Flanders,"
wrote Mazarin to Bordeaux, *' the first sou to give him, if
" he took them at their word. He would promise with the
" same faciHty a million, indeed two, to get a pledge from
" him, since assuredly it would not cost them more to
" hold and execute one promise than the other." Mazarin,
a better diplomatist, enriched his promises with a flowing
courtesy; sent with them his wine, his tapestry, and his
Barbary horses ; and conceded, on the part of the young
king, a rank only less than royal. Even the Prince of
Conde hastened to make himself acceptable to the rough
English soldier, and declared his belief that the people of
the three kingdoms must be surely at the summit of their
happiness in seeing their goods and lives confided to so
great a man.
" sans prejugd ni raauvais vouloir, " powers he assumed an attitude of
" mais sans empressement, se men- " complete and fearless liberty, un-
" trant dispose a la paix, mais lais- *' marked by prejudice or ill-will,
" sant toujours entrevoir la guerre, " but equally void of courtship or
" et portant une fierte rude dans le " flattery, showing himself disposed
" soin des interets de son pays ou "to maintain peace, but always
" de sa propre grandeur." That " leaving open the prospect of war,
is an admirable specimen of JM. '* and watching over the interests
Guizot's style and manner in this " of his country and of his own
book. We could hardly instance a " family with stern and uncompro-
better. But now observe the fol- '' mising haughtiness."
lowing : ' ' Towards the Catholic
46 WAR DETERMINED AGAINST SPAIN. \_Oliver
Cromwell received all these advances, according to M.
Guizot, with the same show of good will. But it was not
that he saw them all with equal eye, or that he drifted
indifferent or uncertain among allies so opposite. " Unlike
" the Long Parliament, he inclined much more towards
*' France than towards Spain ; with a superior sagacity
" he had perceived that Spain w^as thenceforward an
*' apathetic power, ahle to effect hut little, and, in spite
*' of its favourable demonstrations, more hostile than any
" other to Protestant England, for it was more exclu-
" sively than any other given up to the maxims and
*' influences of the Roman Church. And at the same
" time that there was little to expect from Spain,
*' she offered to the maritime ambition of England, by
*' her vast possessions in the new world, rich and easy
" prey."
There soon followed, accordingly, the well-known
swoop upon the King of Spain's West India possessions.
The better half of the design failed, indeed, when the
attack upon St. Domingo failed; but the seizure of
Jamaica was an unquestionable prize, which Cromwell's
wisdom turned at once to a noble account. All these
incidents, and their consequences, show ever characteris-
tically the personal predominance of the Protector. Up
to within a few days of the declaration of war against
Spain, hope had continued with Cardenas. To even the
hour of the treaty of alliance with France, fear had not
quitted Mazarin. And, in the actual dispatches written
while the events were in progress, lives still their most
graphic history. M. Guizot sees this, and the foreign
policy of the Protectorate is thus with a rare freshness
reproduced by him. We compare the mighty tread
of Cromwell with the pirouettes of the statesmen opposed
to him, and get no mean perception of the true hero of
the day.
Of the conditions of the treaty at last concluded with
France, we need not speak ; but the jealous rigour with
which Cromwell insisted on the substitution of Eex Gal-
lorum, for Rex GaUicBy is a pregnant indication of the
attitude then assumed by him to the most powerful of
foreign States. Never, certainly, had our English name
been carried so high. " He is the greatest and happiest
Cromwell.'^ homage of foreign sovereigns. 47
*' prince in Europe," exclaimed young Louis Quatorze.
Bound in fast treaties with all the Protestant States,
allied to the most potent of Catholic Sovereigns, Monte-
cuculi deprecating his wrath on one side as agent for
the house of Austria, and on the other the Marquis of
Leyden on behalf of the King of Spain, he received,
besides the foreign ministers who habitually resided
at his court, ambassadors extraordinary from Sweden,
Poland, Germany, and Italy, who came solemnly to
present to him the overtures or homage of their masters.
To the very last he received this homage. While he lay
himself in the sickness from which he never recovered,
the young French King was talking bare-headed to
his son-in-law. Lord Fauconberg ; and the great French
Cardinal was treating him with a ceremony which, even
to the King himself,' he ordinarily dispensed with.
Pictures and medals, some nobly commemorative of his
exploits, others coarsely satirical of his adversaries,
were displayed in almost every town of the continent;
celebrating his illustrious deeds, and humbling before
them the old princes and kings. Well might one of the
most considerable of the foreign agents write over to
Thurloe, from Brussels, that " the Lord Protector's
" government makes England more formidable and con-
" siderable to all nations than it has ever been in my
" day."
Not the less comes in the inevitable, the melancholy
close. "While the Lord Protector's government was thus
formidable and considerable abroad, it was beset with
I I quote from a letter of Lord " after an hour's discourse in pri-
Fauconberg's, written in June, 1658, " vate, he conducted me downe to
to inform Henry Cromwell that he "the very door, where my coach
had had "the honorablest recep- "stood, a ceremony he dispenses
" tion imaginable" at the French "with not only to all others, but
Court. "The King did not only " even to the King himself. The
* ' keepe bare at my publique au- ' ' charge of two very handsome
" diences, but, when I made him a " tables were defrayed (for myself
" private visit, he talked with me "and followers) by the King, all
" in the garden an hour or two uu- " the while I stayed. In siimrae,
" covered. From the Cardinal, the " through all their actions, not the
" honors I had were particular " least circumstance was omitted,
" and unusual : he waved the state " that might witness the truth of
" of a publique audience, came out "those respects they beai-e his
"of his own room to meet me, led " Highnesse and the English na-
" me presently into his cabinet ; " tion."
48 FAILURE OF PROTECTORATE PARLIAMENTS. [OUver
difficulties at home, wHch drove him finally to expe-
dients that are alleged to have thrown discredit on his
rule, and to have obscured the glory of his name. It
would take us too far from our present purpose to discuss
this matter with M. Guizot, with whom, respecting it,
we have some important differences ; but we will en-
deavour briefly but clearly to present the result of the
investigation and reasoning which he appears to have
been at great pains to bestow upon it.
Of Cromwell's first effort, after the dissolution of the
Long Parliament, to govern with the help of the men
who had been parties to that act of violence, the result,
according to M. Guizot's view, was to show him that
reforming sectaries and innovators, though useful instru-
ments of destruction, are destructive to the very power
they establish ; and that the classes among whom con-
servative interests prevail are the only natural and
permanent allies of authority. Yet he had no choice but
to try again, and again to renew, his efforts in the same
direction, with what help his experience could give ; for the
French historian has satisfied himself that his honest
desire was so far to place himself, by any possible means,
in subordination to English law, as to obtain co-operation
from a fairly chosen Parliament in establishing a dynasty
of Cromwell kings, and restoring the ancient form of
Lords and Commons with that revival of the monarchy.
But his attempts were all unavailing. He could not
restore what he had so helped to destroy. Amid the
ruins which his hands had made, he was doomed to see
the vanity of those rash hopes, and to learn that no
Government is, or can be, the work of man's will alone.
In the endeavour to obtain such a Parliament as the old
usages of England sanctioned, he raised up more than
one semi-constitutional assembly ; but merely to destroy
it when it disappointed him, and with it, as he well
knew, his only safe means of taxing the people he would
govern. The money needful for State purposes thus
failing him, he was at last driven to the expedient pro-
nounced by M. Guizot to be the political act which caused
his ruin: the estabhshment of Major- Generals to levy tithes
on the revenues of the royalists. By this unjustifiable
act, he is declared to have detached his glory from the
Cromwell.'] failure of protectorate itself. 49
cause of order and peace, in tlie name of wMcli lie had
begun to found his throne, and to have plunged his
power down into the depths of revolutionary violence.
" He invoked," says the constitutional historian, *' neces-
*' sity ; and without doubt thought himself reduced to
" that : if he was right, it was one of those necessities
" inflicted by God's justice, which reveal the innate vice
" of a Government, and become the sentence of its con-
" demnation."
From this time to the end, the French historian believes
CromweU to have been thoroughly conscious of the weak-
ness with which he was smitten by his own deed, and
that it was now, upon feeKng in all directions for support,
he at last perceived his surest prop to be the advocacy of
liberty of conscience. (Need we interpose to repeat, what
already we have distinctly shown, that never had this
sacred cause, at any period of his life^ been without his
advocacy?) Of the formal discussion which he afterwards
raised with his friendly Parliament on the question of
his assuming royal state, the historian speaks as of a
comedy performed for the instruction of the nation. It
was designed to make men familiar with the topic, and
to scatter abroad a variety of arguments in its favour ;
but the interference of the army brought the comedy to
an unwelcome end. Cromwell resigned the name of
king ; and with it, the historian appears to think, any
power of retaining much longer the kingly authority.
He had arrived at the slippery height on which to stand
still was impossible, and there was no alternative but to
mount higher or to fall. Even his great heart failed
him. He now saw, that, die when he might, he must
be content to leave behind him for his successors, the
two enemies he had most ardently combatted — Anarchy,
and the Stuarts ; and M. Guizot's comments leave it
to be inferred as his opinion, that had he long sur-
vived the discomfiture which embittered his last months,
even his political position might have been seriously
endangered. He died, however, in the fullness of his
power, though sorroicful. " Sorrowful not only because
" he must die, but also, and above all, because he
" must die without having attained his true and final
" purpose."
50 PATRONAGE OF LEARNED MEN. \_Oliver
Noble purposes lie nevertheless fully achieved, and a
fame which will set him ever apart amongst the most
illustrious of Englishmen. Let our last allusions he to
such parts of his character as no doubt can possibly rest
upon. Of his patronage of Hterature and learned men,
M. Guizot speaks with due respect. Though he holds
that his mind was neither naturally elegant nor richly
cultivated, he yet cannot fail to see that his free and
liberal genius understood thoroughly the wants of the
human intellect. And while M. Guizot's experience has
taught him that absolute power, on emerging from great
social disturbances, takes its principal delight and achieves
its easiest triumphs in the promotion of material prospe-
rity, still, in regard to Cromwell, he frankly admits that
few despots have so carefully confined their despotism
within the limits of practical necessity, and allowed the
human mind such a wide range of freedom. He sees in
him the practical saviour of the two old Universities,
and the founder of the University of Durham : following
out and establishing, in both, what the Statesmen of the
Long Parliament had begun. He is glad to record that he
offered Hobbes the post of a secretary in his household,
that he continued the employment of Milton, and that
he took no offence at either Casaubon or Selden, when
the one declined his pension and the other his invitation
to write a history of the civil wars. He dwells with
pleasure on his kindness to the learned Usher, on his
desire to stand well with Cudworth and with Taylor, on
his frank patronage of all the lettered Puritans,' on his
friendly intercourse with Marvel and Morland, with
Petty the Irish statist and with Pell the famous linguist,
and on the facts that Waller had a place in his court
(we have evidence, since M. Guizot wrote, that he
put no mean value on the poet's famous panegyric^),
^ "When the great design of pub- has no guilt upon him unless it be
lishing the Polyglott was set on "to be revenged for your soe wil-
foot by Dr. Walton, Cromwell per- " linglye mistakinge mee in your
mitted the paper to be imported '* verses ;" and talks of putting
duty free. Waller to redeem him from himself,
2 A brief but remarkable letter as he had already from the world,
was brought to light the other day, in The great Protector was not insen-
which Cromwell, writing from White- sible to those noble and ever memo-
hall in 1655, tells Waller that he rable lines. Waller had known well
Cromwell.'] protectorate court circular. 51
that Butler was permitted to meditate Hudibras in the
house of one of his officers, and that Davenant obtained
his permission to open a private theatre for performance
of his comedies. He might have added that the Lord
Protector had himself a taste for innocent and cheerful
recreation ; that he had no objection to play at Crambo,
or even occasionally to smoke a pipe with Lord Commis-
sioner Whitelocke, who also has left us a pleasant
anecdote contrasting his laughter and gaiety to the sol-
diers with the greater impatience and reserve of Ireton ;
and that, in the correspondence of one of the Dutch
ambassadors, there is a picture of his courteous habits on
state occasions, and of the dignified and graceful conduct
of his household, which far exceeds, in sober grandeur
and worth, any other court circular of that age. " The
" music played all the while we were at dinner," says
Herr Jongestall, " and after, the Lord Protector had us
" into another room, where the Lady Protectress and
" others came to us, and we had also music and voices."
To these graces of his private life, and to his domestic
love and tenderness, which even his worst enemies have
admitted, M. Guizot is of course, not slow to pay tribute ;
but on one point he has suffered himself to be strangely
misled. He gravely mentions Cromwell's infidelity to
his wife, as if it were an admitted fact, and not a mere
royalist slander; and he seems to think that some
how to make his Panegyric most '* Hither the oppressed shall hence-
pleasing to his great kinsman's ear. forth resort
** Justice to crave, and succour of
** The Sea's our own, and now all your Court,
nations greet ** And show your Highness not for
** With bending sails each vessel in ours alone
our fleet, *' But for the World's Protector
* * Your power resounds as far as shall be known . . .
wind can blow, " To pardon willing, and to punish
" Or swelling sails upon the globe loth,
may go . . . " You strike with one hand, but
" Whether this portion of the world you heal with both . . .
were rent " Still as you rise, the State, ex-
** By the wide ocean from the con- alted too,
tinent, " Finds no distemper while 'tis
" Or thus created, it was sure de- changed by you —
signed *' Changed like the World's great
"To be the sacred refuge of man- scene, when without noise
kind. " The rising Sun night's vulgar
lights destroys ! "
E 2
63 WIFE OF THE PROTECTOR. \Oliver
complaints of her own remain, in proof of a well-founded
jealousy. Jealousy there may be, in the solitary letter
of this excellent woman which has descended to us ; but
it is the jealousy only of a gentle and sensitive nature,
shrinking from the least ruflEe or breath of doubt that can
come between itself and the beloved. " My dearest," she
writes, " I wonder you should blame me for writing no
" oftener, when I have sent three for one : I cannot but
" think they are miscarried. Truly, if I know my own
" heart, I should as soon neglect myself as to omit the
" least thought towards you, when in doing it I must do
" it to myself. But when I do write, my dear, I seldom
" have any satisfactory answer, which makes me think my
" writing is slighted ; as well it may ; but I cannot but
" think your love covers my weakness and infirmities.
" Truly my life is but half a life in your absence." That
is not the writing of a woman jealous of anything but
the share of her husband's time and care which public
affairs steal from her. Most touching, too, is a letter of
his own of nearly the same date, written to her from the
very midst of the toils and perils of Dunbar ; in which
he tells her that truly, if he does not love her too well,
he thinks he errs not on the other hand much, and
assures her that she is dearer to him than any creature.
Let M. Guizot be well assured that he has here fallen
into error.
Of another error into which he has fallen, also con-
nected with the domesticities of Cromwell, we have now,
in conclusion, to speak in somewhat more detail. It
touches an interesting point in Cromwell's history, and
we are happy to be able to remove all further doubt
respecting it. By none who have yet written on the
subject has it been stated correctly.
Five sons were born to Cromwell, of whom the youngest,
James, born in 1632, certainly died in his infancy, and
the eldest, Eobert, born in 1621, is supposed in all the
biographies not to have survived his childhood. The
second son, Oliver, born in 1623, grew to manhood, and
his name is to be found enrolled as a cornet in the eighth
troop of what was called " Earl Bedford's Horse." He
was killed in battle ; but, in our opinion, certainly not so
early as appears to be fixed by Mr. Carlyle, who accepts
Cromwell. '\ family histoey. 53
an allusion, in a letter of his father's written after Marstou
Moor, as referring to this loss, which we are about to
show might have had quite another reference. Be this
as it may, however, all the biographers up to this time
have agreed, in regard to the eldest, Robert, that what is
comprised in Mr. Carlyle's curt notice, " Named for Ms
" grandfather. No farther account of him. Died before
" ripe yearsy' — must be taken to express whatever now
can be known. Cromwell's only distinct reference to any
of his sons while yet in tender years, is contained in a
letter addressed to his cousin, Oliver St. John's wife,
while she was staying with his friend and relative Sir
William Masham, at Otes, in Essex ; and Mr. Carlyle
connects the reference in this letter with the fact that
some two or three of Cromwell's sons were certainly
educated at the neighbouring public school of Felsted,
where their maternal grandfather had his country-seat.
But the allusion surely relates specifically to one son, who
appears to have been either staying with the Mashams at
the time, or the object of some particular care and sym-
pathy on their part. " Salute all my friends in that
" family whereof you are yet a member. I am much
" bound unto them for their love. I bless the Lord for
" them ! and that my son, by their procurement, is so
" well. Let him have your prayers, your counsel."
Such had been the amount of existing information
respecting the two eldest sons of Cromwell, when, before
the publication of Mr. Carlyle's work, the present Avriter,
in the Fifth Volume of his Statesmen of the Common-
wealth, reproduced from one of tbe king's pamphlets in
the British Museum, a very striking account of the death-
bed of the Lord Protector, written by a groom of the
chamber in waiting on him. In this, Cromwell was re-
presented calling for his Bible, and desiring those verses
from the fourth chapter of the Epistle to the Philippians
to be read to him, in which the Apostle speaks of having
learned, in whatever state he was, therewith to be con-
tent, for he could do all things through Christ which
strengthened him. " ^Yhich read," (the account pro-
ceeded) " said he, to use his own words as near as I can
" remember them. This scripture did once save my life ;
" when my eldest son died; tchich went as a dagger to my
54 ELDEST SON OF PROTECTOR. \_Oliver
" heart : indeed it did/' Naturally enough, this aiFecting
passage was supposed by the writer who reproduced it to
relate to his son's death in battle, and Mr. Carlyle arrived
also at the same conclusion so confidently, that after
" eldest son '' he put in " poor Oliver " in reprinting it,
at the same time carefully marking the words as an
insertion. M. Guizot, however, has gone two steps further,
and printed the passage thus : " Ce texte, dit-il, m'a
" sauve une fois la vie, quand mon fils aine, mon paiivre
" Olivier, fat tue, ce qui me perca le coeur comme un
" poignard." In making this change without the least
authority, M. Gruizot marked unconsciously the weak
point in the supposition he had adopted from others, and
on which he was himself, too confidently proceeding. If
the Protector had really intended his allusion for the son
who had been slain in battle, would he not, in place of
the simple expression *' when my eldest son died," more
probably have said just exactly what M. Guizot has
thought it necessary to say for him ?
We are now in a position to prove that the allusion was
not to Oliver, but to Robert ; that Robert lived till his
nineteenth year ; that he was buried at Felsted within
seven months of the date of the letter containing the
allusion to the kindness of the Mashams respecting him ;
and that his youth had inspired such promise of a future
as might well justify the place in his father's heart kept
sacred to his memory as long as life remained. In the
register of burials in the parish church of Felsted, under
the year 1639, is the following entry : " Eobertus Crom-
" well filius honorandi viri M^J^ Oliveris Cromwell et
" Elizabethae uxoris ejus sepultus fuit 31° die Maii. Et
" Robertus fuit eximie pius juvenis deum timens supra
" multos." ' Which remarkable addition to a simple
mention of burial, we need hardly point out as of ex-
* This entry has been more than name, "^t'^^er and ITz'^gs," says Sel-
once carefully examined, and is here den {IHtles of Honour, Ivi.), "often
l>rinied verbatim et litei'atim, as it "signify in the old feudal law of
stands in the register. The word "the Empire, a gentleman, as the
denoted by the conti-action M*'* is * ' Avord gentleman is signified in no-
" Militis," in the sense of esquire, or " bilisy and not a dubbed knight ;
arm-bearing gentleman, and there " as with us in England, the word
are some rare examples of its use " m?7^Ves denotes gentlemen or great
with this meaning before a proper " freeholders of the country also."
Cromwell.'] "vm honorandus." 55
tremely rare occurrence on tliat most formal of all the
pages of liistory — a leaf of the parish register ; where to be
born, and to die, is all that can in justice be conceded to
either rich or poor. The friend who examined the original
for us could find no other instance in the volume of a
deviation from the strict rule. Among all the fathers,
sons, and brothers, crowded into its records of birth and
death, the only vir honorandus is the puritan squire of
Huntingdon. The name of the vicar of Felsted in 1639
was "Wharton ; this entry is in his handwriting, and has
his signature appended to it ; and let it henceforward be
remembered as the good Mr. Wharton's distinction, that,
long before Cromwell's name was famous beyond his
native county, he had appeared to this incumbent of a
small Essex parish as a man to be honoured.
The tribute to the youth who passed so early away,
uncouthly expressed as it is, takes a deep and mournful
significance from the words which lingered last on the
dying lips of his heroic father. If Heaven had but
spared all that gentle and noble promise which repre-
sented once the eldest son and successor of Cromwell's
name, the sceptre then falling might have found a hand
to grasp and sustain it, and the history of England taken
quite another course. The sad and sorry substitute — is
it not written in M. Guizot's narrative of the Protectorate
of Eichard Cromwell ?
DANIEL DE FOE/
1661—1731.
The Novels and Miscdlaneous Works of Daniel Be Foe; with a Bio-
graphical Memoir of the Author. 20 vols. 12mo. Oxford: 1842.
The Works of Daniel De Foe. 3 vols, royal 8vo. London : 1843.
Swift proposed, for one of the sour consolations of liis
Irish exile, to compile a catalogue of Things that Ought
to have Succeeded. A modern version of the sorry Ust
would be incomplete wdthout the Complete Editions of
De Foe. Better undertakings have never more decisively-
failed. Of the only two attempts, now before us, made
with any sort of pretension to success, the first scantly
executed a limited design, and the second abruptly stopped
with four-fifths of its labour unaccomplished. Such as
they are, the intelligent bookseller ofi'ers them for some-
thing less than a fourth of their original cost, and has yet
to comxplain that his customers turn away. He would
fain think better of the writer with whom his boyhood
associates the first and most enduring delight he has
received from literature ; and perhaps he moves him wdth
some reluctance from that popular shelf which holds the
Pope, the Swift, and the Addison.
It is with De Foe dead, as it was with De Foe living.
He stands apart from the circle of the reigning wits of his
time, and his name is not called over with theirs. What
in this respect was formerly the fashion, is the fashion
still ; and, whether sought for in the histories of Doctor
Smollett or of Lord Mahon, his niche is vacant. His life,
^ From the Edhiburgh Eevieiv, October, 1845. With some additions.
58 CHURCH AND STATE UNDER CHARLES II. {^Daniel
to be fairly presented, should he written as the " Life and
" Strange Surprising Adventures of Daniel De Foe, who
" Lived about Seventy Years all Alone, in the Island of
*' Great Britain." It might then be expected to compare,
in vicissitude and interest, with his immortal romance ;
as hitherto written, it has only shared the fate of his
manly but perishable polemics.
He was born much about the time of that year of grace
1661, when Mr. Pepys and his wife, walking in Whitehall
Gardens, saw " the finest smocks and linen petticoats of
*' my Lady Castlemaine, laced with rich lace at the
" bottom,'' that ever they saw : " and did me good to
" look at them," adds the worthy man. There was little
else in those days to do any body good. The people,
drunk with the orgies of the Eestoration, rejoiced in
nothing so much as in pimps and courtesans ; and to be
a bad Englishman and a worse Christian, was to be a
good Protestant and a loyal subject. Sheldon governed
the Church, and Clarendon the State ; the bishop having
no better charity than to bring Presbyterian preachers
into contempt, and the chancellor no better wisdom than
to reduce them to beggary. While Sheldon entertained
his dinner.-table with caricatures of a dissenting minister's
sermon, " till," says one of his guests, " it made us all
*' burst," Clarendon was drawing up that act of unifor-
mity, by which, in one day, he threw out three thousand
ministers from the benefices they held.
This was in 1662 ; and the beginning of that system
of religious persecution, under which, with God's blessing,
the better part of the English character re-awakened, and
the hardy virtues of Dissent struck root and flourished.
Up to this time, vast numbers of the Presbyterians^
strongly attached to monarchy, desired but a reasonable
settlement of episcopacy, and would have given in their
adherence to any moderate system. The hope of such a
compromise was now rudely closed. In 1663 the Con-
venticle Act was passed, punishing with transportation a
third ofi'ence of attendance on any worship but that of the
Church ; and while the plague was raging, two years after,
the Oxford Act banished five miles from any corporate
town all who should refuse a certain oath, which no Non-
conformist could honestly take. Secret, stealthy worship
De Foe."] mr. foe of cripplegate. 69
was tlie resource left ; and other things throve in secret
T\dth it, which would less have prospered opeiily. Sub-
stantial citizens, wealthy tradesmen, even gossiping
secretaries to the admiralty, began to find other employ-
ment than the criticism of Lady Castlemaine's lace, or
admiration of Mistress Nell Gwynne's linen. It appeared
to be dawning on them at last, that they were really living
in the midst of infamy and baseness ; that buffoons and
courtesans were their rulers ; that defeat and disgrace
were their portion ; that a Dutch fleet was riding in the
channel, and a perjured and pensioned Popish despot
sitting on the throne.
The Indulgence granted to Dissenters in the year of
the Dutch war (the previous year had been one of fierce
persecution), opened, among other meeting-houses, that
of Little St. Helen's, Bishopsgate ; where the Hev. Dr.
Annesley, ejected from his living of Cripplegate by the
Act of Uniformity, administered his pious lessons. Under
him there sate, in that congregation of earnest listeners,
the family of a wealthy butcher of St. Giles's Cripple-
gate, Mr. James Foe ; and the worthy minister would
stop approvingly, as he passed the seats of Mr. Foe, to
speak to that bright-eyed lad of eleven, by name Daniel,
whose activity and zeal in the good cause were already
such, that, in fear their Popish governors might steal
away their printed Bibles, he had " worked like a horse
" till he had written out the whole Pentateuch." For,
the gleam of liberty to Dissenters had been but a veil for
the like indulgence to Papists ; and it was known at this
very time, that the high-minded Eichard Baxter had
refused a bribe of 50/. a-year, to give in his public approval
of such questionable favours of the Crown.
Mr. James Foe, a grave, reserved, and godly man,'
seems to have been proud of his son Daniel. He gave
1 He lived till 1707, and two " that godly minister, wlncli we
yeai-s before his death wrote this " should not have done had not her
testimony to a servant's character, *' conversatioa been becoming the
which now supplies no bad testi- " gospel. From my lodgings, at
mony to his own : — " Sarah Pierce " the Bell in Broad-street, having
" lived with us about fifteen or six- " left my house in Throgmorton-
" teen years since, about two years ; " street, October 10, 1705. \Yit'
*' and behaved herself so well that '* ness my hand, James Foe."
" we recommended her to IVIr. Cave,
GO A BOXING ENGLISH BOY. [Daniel
liim tlie best education whicb. a Dissenter bad it in bis
power to give. He sent bim to tbe tben famous Aca-
demy at Newington Green, kept by Mr. Cbarles Morton,
an excellent Oxford Scbolar, and a man of various and
large ability ; wbom Harvard College in New England
afterwards cbose for vice-president, wben driven by eccle-
siastical persecution to find a borne beyond tbe Atlantic.
Here tbe lad was put tbrougb a course of tbeology; and
was set to study tbe rudiments of political science. Tbese
tbings Mr. Morton reckoned to be a part of education.
Young Daniel also acquired a competent knowledge of
matbematics and natural pbilosopby ; of logic, geograpby,
and bistory ; and, wben be left tbe scbool, was reasonably
accomplisbed in Latin and Greek, and in Frencb and
Italian.^ He bad made bimself known, too, as a '' boxing
" Englisb boy ; " wbo never struck liis enemy wben be
was down. All tbis be recounted, witb no immodest or
unmanly pride, wben assailed in after life by Browne and
Tutcbin, for bis mean Dissenter's education. It was an
act of justice to bis ancient fatber, be said, tben still
living, freely to testify tbat, if be was a blockbead, it was
nobody's fault but bis own, notbing in bis education bav-
ing been spared tbat could qualify bim to matcb witb tbe
accurate Doctor Browne or tbe learned Observator ; and
b.e added, tbat tbere was a fiftb language, besides tbose
recounted, in wbicb it bad been Mr. Morton's endeavour
^ In later life, when replying with " pliilosopliy, and could never find
great dignity and temper to an at- " between the two ends of nature,
tack by Swift, he adverts to what " generation and corruption, one
some of his studies in those eai-lier " species out of which such a crea-
days had been. "Illiterate as I *' ture could be formed. I thought
"am," he says, repeating Swift's " myself master of geography, and
acrimony, ' ' I have been in my time ' ' to possess sufficient skill in astro-
" pretty well master of five Ian- *' nomy to have setup for a country
" guages, and have not lost them " almanac -writer ; yet could, in
" yet ; but my father left the Ian- '* neither of the globes, find either
" guage of Billingsgate quite out of "in what part of the world such a
" my education. I have also made " heterogeneous creature lives, nor
" a little progress in science. I have " under the influence of what hea-
" read 'Euclid's Elements,' and yet " venly body he can be produced.
** never found the mathematical de- "From whence I conclude, very
" scription of a scurrilous gentle- " frankly, that either there is no
" man. I have read logic, but " such creature in the world, or
" could never see a syllogism formed " that, according to Mr. Examiner,
" upon the notion of it. I went " I am a stupid idiot, and a very
" some length in physics, or natural " illiterate fellow."
Be Foe.'\ a manly exglish EDrcATiox. 6 J
to practice and improve his scholars. " He read all his
*' lectures, gave all his systems, whether of philosophy
*' or divinity, and had all his' declaimings and disserta-
" tions — in EngJlsli. We were not critics in the Greek
** and Hebrew, perfect in languages, and perfectly igno-
" rant, if that term may he allowed, of our mother tongue.
" We were not destitute of languages, hut we were made
" masters of English ; and more of us excelled in that
" particular than of any school at that time."
So passed the youth of Daniel Foe, in what may he
well accounted a vigorous and healthy English training.
With sharp and strong faculties, with early and active
zeal, he looked out from his honest father's home and his
liberal teacher's study, upon a course of public events
well fitted to enforce, by dint of bitter contrast, the value
of high courage, of stern integrity, and of unbending
faithfulness. He would be told, by all whom he esteemed,
of the age of great deeds and thoughts which had lately
passed away ; and thus early would learn the difference,
on which he dwelt in one of his first writings, between the
grand old blind schoolmaster of Bunhill-fields, just buried
in his father's parish of Cripplegate,^ and the ribald crowd
of profligate poets lounging and sauntering in St. James's.
There is no better school for the love of virtue, than that
of hatred and contempt for vice. He would hear dis-
cussed, with fervid and honest indignation, the recall of
the Indulgence in 1674, after the measures for relief of
Dissent had been defeated ; the persecution of Baxter
and Manton in the following year ; the subsequent gross
interference of the Bishops against a final effort for ac-
commodation ; and the fierce^ cruelty of the penal laws
against Nonconformists, between 1676 and 1678. Then,
ill the latter memorable year, he would find himself in-
volved in that sudden and fierce re- action of the Anti-
Papist feeling of the time, which, while Protestants and
Presbyterians were groaning under a Popish prince,
sent numberless innocent Boman Catholic gentlemen to
Protestant and Presbyterian scaffolds.
When the rage of the so-called Popish Plot burst forth,
1 Buried in tlie chancel of St. Giles at Cripplegate, November, 1674,
John Milton.
62 THE POPISH PLOT AND ITS HERO. \_T)amel
Mr. Morton's favourite pupil was in his seventeenth year.
We need not say how freely we condemn that miserable
madness ; or in what scorii we hold the false-hearted spies
and truculent murderers, whose worthless evidence sacri-
ficed so many noble and gentle lives. But as little can
we doubt, that, to honest Presbyterians then existing, the
tiling was not that cruel folly it now seems to its ; and
we can understand their welcoming at last, in even such
wild frenzy, a popular denunciation of the faith which
they knew to be incompatible with both civil and religious
liberty, yet knew to be the faith of him who occupied,
and of him who was to succeed to, the throne. Out of
the villainy of the Court, sprang this counter- villainy of
Titus Gates ; and the meetings in which that miscreant
harangued the London citizens, were the first effectual
demonstration against the government of Charles II. We
will not wonder, then, that there was often to be seen
among his crowds of excited listeners, but less excited than
they, a middle-sized, spare, active, keen-eyed youth — the
son of Mr. Foe of Cripplegate.
At these meetings were first heard, bandied from side
to side, the two not least memorable words in English
history. Then broke forth, when the horrible cruelties
of Lauderdale were the theme, groans of sympathy for
those tortured Cameronians who lived on the refuse, the
" weak '' of the milk, and so had got the Scotch name of
Whigs. Then, when justification was sought for like
cruelties and tortures against the opposite faith, shouts of
execration were hurled against the Papists who would
murder Titus Gates, and who, for their thieving and
villainous tendencies, had got the Irish name of Tories.
Young Foe remembered this in after life ; and described
the blustering hero of these scenes, with a squat figure, a
vulgar drawling voice, and, right in the centre of his broad
flat face, a mouth of fit capacity for the huge lies it uttered,
" calling every man a Tory that opposed him in discourse.^'
For> be it noted to the credit of the youth's sagacity, he
did not even now, to adopt his own expression, " come
" up to all the extravagances of some people in their
" notions of the Popish plot." He believed, indeed, that
wherever sincere Popery was, a conspiracy to act in con-
formity with it would not be far off. "I never blame
De Foe.~\ a stout protestant flail. 63
" men who, professing principles destructive of tlie con-
" stitution they live under, and believing it their just right
'' to supplant it, act in conformity to the principles they
" profess. I believe, if I were a Papist, I should do
" the same. Believing the merit of it would carry me to
*' heaven, I doubt not I should go as far as another. But,
" when we ran up that plot to general massacres, fleets of
" pilgrims, bits and bridles, knives, handcuffs, and a
*' thousand such things, I confess, though a boy, I could
" not then, nor can now, come up to them. And my
" reasons were, as they still are, because I see no cause
" to believe the Papists to be fools, whatever else we had
" occasion to think them. A general massacre, truly !
" when the Papists all over the kingdom are not five to
** a hundred, in some counties not one, and within the
*' city hardly one to a thousand ! "
So saved from the general folly of the Presbyterian
party, and intolerant only because a larger toleration was
at stake, this manly and sagacious lad needed neither
knife nor handcuff to save himself from a Papist. He
walked through the thick of the riots with reliance on
a stout oaken cudgel, which he called his " Protestant
*' flail ; " ' and he laughed at the monstrous lies that fed the
vulgar cravings, and kept taverns agape with terror. See
him enter one, and watch the eager group. A fellow
^ Witli characteristic and manly " I remember I saw an honest stout
humour he wrote, several years after " fellow, who is yet alive, with one
this date: — "Now, a Protestant "of these Protestant instruments
"flail is an excellent weapon. A "exorcise seven or eight ruffians
" pistol is a fool to it. It laughs " in Fleet-street, and drive them
* ' at the sword or cane. You know ' ' all before him quite from Fleet-
" there's no fence against a flail. "bridge into White-friars, which
" For my part, I have frequently " was their receptacle ; and he
" walked with one about me in the " handled it so decently that you
"old Popish days, and, though I "would wonder, when now and
" never set up for a hero, yet, when " then one or two of them came
"armed with this scourge for a " within his reach, and got a knock,
"Papist, I remember I feared no- "to see how they would dance:
" thing. Murthering men in the " nay, so humble and complaisant
* ' dark was pretty much the fashion ' ' were they, that every now and
" then, and every honest man walked "then they would kiss the very
" the streets in danger of his life ; " ground at his feet ; nor would
"yet so excellent a weapon is it, " they scruple descending even to
" that really the very apprehension " the kennel itself, if they received
" ofitsoon piitanendto theassassi- "but the word of command from
" nations that then were practised. " this most Protestant utensil."
64 LYixG LIKE TRUTH. \_Daniel
bawls forth tlie last invention against " the Papishes."
It concerns tlie new building honest men took such pride
in, and Papists, for a reason, hated so. It is about the
" tall bully " of a Monument ; and everybody pricks up
his ears. AYhat has happened ? " Why, last night, six
" Frenchmen came up and stole away the Monument ;
" and but for the Watch, who stopped them as they were
" going over the bridge, and made them carry it back
" again, they might, for aught we know, have carried it
" over into France. These Papishes will never have
** done." Is the tale incredible ? JSTot half so much, as
that some of those assembled should stare and doubt it.
But now steps forward " Mr. Daniel Foe." He repeats
the story, and tells the unbelievers to satisfy their doubts
by going to the spot, " where they 'd see the workmen
" employed in making all fast again." The simpletons
swallowed the joke, " and departed quite satisfied." The
touch of reality sent it down. A genius for homely
fiction had strolled into the tavern, and there found its
first victims. They deserved, by way of compensation, a
ripe old age, and the reading of Robinson €?^usoe.
But the strolling into taverns ? It is little likely that
Mr. Morton, or the elder Mr. Foe, would have sanctioned
it ; but the Presbyterian ministry was no longer, as it
once had been, the youth's destination. He seems to
have desired a more active sphere, and he was put to the
business of commerce. His precise employment has been
questioned : but, when his Hbellers in later life called him
a hosier, he said he had never been apprentice to that
craft, though he had been a trader in it; and it is tolerably
certain that, in seven years from the present date, he had
a large agency in Freeman's- court, Cornhill, as a kind
of middleman between the manufacturer and the retail
trader. He was a freeman of London by his birth ; on
embarking in this business of hose-factor, he entered the
livery; and he wrote his name in the Chamberlain's book,
" Daniel Foe."
Seven eventful years ! Trade could not so absorb him,
but that he watched them with eager interest, l^or was
it possible for such a man to watch them mthout hope.
Hope would brighten in that sensible manly heart, when
it most deserted weaker men's. When the King, alarmed,
De Foe.~\ se\t:x eventful years. 66
flung off Ms lounging sloth for crueller enjo\Tnents; when
lampoons and ballads of tlie streets, directed against the
doings in Whitehall, became fiercer and bolder than even
Duchess Portsmouth's impudence; when such serious
work was afoot, that a satire by Dryden counted more
at Court than an indecency by Rochester ; when bills to
exclude a Popish succession were only lost in the upper
House by means of a phalanx of Protestant bishops, and
the lower House that had passed them, rudely dissolved
by a furious monarch and intemperately assailed by ser-
vile churchmen, was calmly defended by a Sydney and
a Somers ; when, the legitimate field of honest warfare
being closed, dark conspii'acies and treasons took its
place, and the daring boast of Shaftesbury passed reck-
lessly from mouth to mouth, that he 'd walk the King
leisurely out of his dominions, and make the Duke of
York a vagabond on the earth like Cain ; — no fear was
likely to depress, and no bragging was needed to keep in
hope, this clear, shrewd intellect. The young Cornhill
merchant told his countrymen afterwards, how it had
gone with him then. How Tyranny had taught him the
value of liberty. Popery the danger of passive pulpits,
and Oppression how to prize the fence of laws ; with what
interest he had observed the sudden visit of the King's
nephew, William of Orange, already the hero of the
Protestant liberties of Europe, and lately wedded to the
presumptive heiress of the throne ; of what light esteem
he held the monarch's disregard of that kinsman's prudent
counsel ; and with what generous anger, yet unshrinking
spirit, he saw the men who could not answer Algernon
Sydney's book, erect a scaffold to take off his head.
That was his first brave impulse to authorship of his
own. In the year made infamous by the judicial murders
of Russell and Sydney, he published his first pohtical
essay. It was a prose lampoon on High Church absurdi-
ties ; ' and, with much that would not bear present revival,
it bore the stamp of a robust new mind, fresh from the
reading of Rabelais. It stirred the veteran libeller
L'Estrange, and pamphlet followed pamphlet. But it
^ The allusion in the text is to seen reason to doubt whether De
the Speculum Ompegownoricm; but Foe was really the author,
since this Essay was written I have
66 DEA.TH OF CHARLES THE SECOND. {Datliel
needs not to toucli the controversy now. It is dead and
gone. Oxford herself repudiates, with shame, the decree
she passed in full Convocation on the day of Russell^s
execution ; promulgating, on pain of infamy here and
damnation hereafter, the doctrines of divine right and
passive obedience ; and anathematising twenty-seven pro-
positions from Milton, Baxter, and Godwin, Bellarmine,
Buchanan, and Hobbes, as seditious, scandalous, impious,
blasphemous, heretical, and damnable.
Having fleshed his maiden pen, the young merchant
soon resumed it, in a cause again involving religious
liberty ; with a spirit in advance of his party ; and with
force, decision, and success. The reign of Charles was
now setting, in a sullen, dire persecution. Chapels were
shut ; ministers dying in jail ; congregations scattered.
A man who would not take the sacrament, was whipped
or pilloried ; a man who would not take it kneeling, was
plundered or imprisoned. " See there ! '^ cried the sharp
strong sense of Daniel Foe, whom business had taken to
Windsor, where he had sauntered into St. George's
Chapel with a friend — " See that altar-piece ! Our
" Saviour administers his Last Supper to his disciples
" sitting round the table; and because we would copy that
" posture, the Government oppresses us." Almost as he
spoke, the end was approaching. Evelyn had seen the
King on the past Sunday evening, sitting and toying with
his concubines, Portsmouth, Cleveland, and Mazarine.
A French boy sang love-songs in a glorious gallery;
and, round a table groaning with a bank of two thousand
golden pieces, a crew of profligate courtiers drank and
gambled. *' Six days after, all was in the dust ; " and
caps in the air for James the Second.
Of the new monarch's greetings, the most grovelling
were those of the churchmen and the lawyers. The
Bishop of Chester preached the divinity and infallibility
of Kings ; the Temple benchers and barristers went to
Court with the assurance that high prerogative, in its fullest
extent, was the subject's best security for liberty and
property; and in every pulpit thanksgivings resounded.
In the first months of the reign, our hose-factor of Free-
man's Yard heard it publicly preached from one of these
De Foe,'] " out " with monmouth. 67
pulpits, that if the King commanded the suhject's head,
and sent his messengers to fetch it, the subject was bound
to submit, and, as far as possible, facilitate his own
decapitation. Close upon this came the sudden tidings
of Monmouth's ill-fated landing ; and of a small band of
daring citizens who took horse and joined him, Daniel Foe
was one. Perhaps he thought his own head nearer danger
than it was, and worth a stroke for safety. He knew, at
any rate, only the better sides of Monmouth's character.
He admired his popular manners. " None so beautiful,
" so brave as Absolon." He had seen him among the
people in their sports, at races and at games, and thought
his bearing sensible and manly. What matter if Lucy
Walters was his mother ? He knew him to be a sincere
Protestant, and a lover of civil freedom ; and he remem-
bered the more kindly his disgrace in the reign just
passed, for having vainly striven to moderate Episcopal
cruelties in Scotland, when he saw the first Scottish act
of the reign just begun, in a law to inflict death on con-
venticle preachers. In a word, our incipient rebel made
no nice balance of danger and success ; he saw what
seemed to him liberty on the one side, and slavery on the
other, and he resolved, with whatever fortune, to strike
a blow for the good cause. He mounted horse and joined
the invaders ; was with them in Bristol and at Bath ;
and very narrowly escaped the crash that followed.
There is little doubt that while Bishops Turner and
Ken were prolonging Monmouth's agonies on the scaffold,
for the chance of a declaration in favour of divine right
and non-resistance ; and while Jeffreys's bloody campaign,
through the scenes of the late rebellion, was consigning
his master and himself to eternal infamy; the young
rebel citizen had eff'ected a passage over seas. At about
this time, he certainly was absent from England; as
certainly had embarked some capital in the Spanish and
Portuguese trade ; and no one has questioned his narrow
escape from the clutch of Jeffreys. The mere escape had
been enough for other men ; — his practical, unwearying,
versatile energy, made it the means of new adventure,
the source of a larger experience, the incentive to a more
active life. He had seen Spain, Germany, and France,
before he again saw Freeman's-court, Cornhill; and,
F 2
68 ACTS OF JAMES THE SECOND. [Datliel
wlien he returned, it was with the name he has made
immortal. He was now Daniel Be Foe.
Whether the change was a piece of innocent vanity
picked up in his travels, or had any more serious motive,
it would now he idle to inquire. By hoth names he was
known to the last ; but his hooks, in almost every
instance, bore that by which he is known to posterity.
He found a strange scene in progress on his return.
The power of the King to dispense with the laws, had
been afSrmed by eleven out of the twelve judges ; and he
saw this monstrous power employed to stay the as mon-
strous persecution of Nonconformists and Dissenters. A
licence purchased for fifty shillings had opened the prison
doors of E-ichard Baxter ; but the sturdy lovers of freedom
who purchased that licence, acknowledged, in the act of
doing it, that they placed the King above the laws. It
was a state of things in which men of the clearest sight
had lost their way, and the steadiest were daily stumbling.
"William Penn had gone up to Court with a deputation
of thanks ; he was seconded by not a few Presbyterians ;
he had the support of all those classes of Dissent whose
idea of religion rejected altogether the alliance of civil
government, conceiving itself to stand immeasurably
above such control ; and, though the main Presbyterian
body stood aloof, it was in an attitude of deference and
fear, without dignity, without self-reliance. For a while
De Foe looked on in silence ; and then resolvedly took
his course.
Of James II's sincerity there is as little doubt, as of his
bigotry and meanness. He had the obstinate weakness
of his father. " There goes an honest gentleman,'' said
the Archbishop of Rheims, some year or two later, " who
*' lost three kingdoms for a mass." His unwearied, sole
endeavour, from the hour when he ascended the throne
to that in which he was hurled from it, was to establish
the Roman Catholic religion in England. When the
Church, that had declared resistance unchristian and
proffered him unconditional obedience, refused him a
single benefice fat or lean, and kept his hungering Popish
doctors outside the butteries of her Oxford colleges, — the
Dissenters became his hope. If he could array Dissent
against the Church, there was an entrance yet for Rome.
De Foe.'\ warnings disregarded. 6&
That was his passion. He had literally no other ; and,
to balance or counteract it, he had neither breadth of
understanding nor warmth of heart. It stood him in the
stead, therefore, of every other faith or feeling; and,
when the game went wholly against him, he had no
better source of courage. He thought but of " raising
*' the Host," and winning it that way.
De Foe understood both the game and the gambler.
We could name no man of the time who understood them
so clearly as this young trader of Cornhill. He saw the
false position of all parties; the blundering clash of
interests, the wily complications of policy. He spoke
with contempt of a Church that, "with its "fawning,
" whining, canting sermons,'' had played the Judas to its
Sovereign. He condemned the address-making Dis-
senters, who, in their zeal for religious liberty, had
forgotten civil freedom. He exposed the conduct of
the King, as, in plain words, a fraudulent scheme " to
" create a feud between Dissenters and the Establish-
" ment, and so destroy both in the end." And with
emphatic eloquence he exhorted the Presbyterian party,
that now, if ever, they should make just and reasonable
terms with the Church ; that now, if ever, should her
assumption of superiority, her disdain of equal inter-
course, her denial of Christian brotherhood, be effectually
rebuked ; that between the devil sick and the devil well,
there was a monstrous difference ; and that, failing any
present assertion of rights and guarantees, it would be
hopeless to expect them when she should have risen,
once more strengthened, from her humble diet and her
recumbent posture.
The advice and the warning were put forth in two mas-
terly publications. The Dissenters condemned them, and
took every occasion to disclaim their author. De Foe
had looked for no less. In his twenty-sixth year, he
found himself that solitary, resolute, independent thinker,
which, up to his seventieth year, he remained. What he
calls the " grave, weak, good men " of the party, did not
fail to tell him of his youth and inexperience ; but, for all
that fell out, he had prepared himself abundantly. " He
" that will serve men, must not promise himself that he
" shaU not anger them. I have been exercised in this
70 THE LANDING AT TORBAY. \_Daniel
" usage even from a youth. I liad their reproaches when
" I blamed their credulity and confidence in the flatteries
" and caresses of Popery; and when I protested against
" addresses of thanks for an illegal liberty of conscience
" founded on a dispensing power." He was thus early
initiated in the transcendent art of thinking and standing
ALONE.
Whoso can do this manfully, will find himself least
disposed to be alone, when any great good thing is in
progress. De Foe would have worked with the meanest
of the men opposed to him, in the business of the nation's
deliverance. He knew that Dyckvelt was now in England,
in communication with the leaders of both parties in the
State. He had always honoured the steady-purposed
Dutchman's master as the head of the league of the
great European confederacy, which wanted only England
to enable it to complete its noble designs. He believed
it to be the duty of that prince^ connected both by birth
and marriage with the English throne, to watch the
course of public affairs in a country which by even the
natural course of succession he might be called to govern.
But he despised the Tory attempt to mix up a claim of
legitimacy with the greater principle of elective sove-
reignty ; and he laughed with the hottest of the Jacobites
at the miserable warming-pan plot. He felt, and was
the first to state it in print at the time, that the title to
the throne was but in another form the more sacred title
of the people to their liberties ; and so, when he heard
of the landing at Torbay, he mounted his " rebel " horse
once more. He was with the army of William when
James precipitately fled ; he was at the bar of the House
of Lords when Hampden took up the vote of non-
allegiance to a Popish sovereign, and when the memo-
rable resolution of the 13th of February declared that no
King had reigned in England since the day of James's
flight; he heard William's first speech to the Houses
five days later ; and, " gallantly mounted and richly
" accoutred," he was foremost in the citizen troop of
volunteer horse, who were William and Mary's guard of
honour at their first visit to Guildhall.
^ Oldmixon's account is charac- old Whig libels De Foe, but a suffi-
teristic. Of course the inveterate cient refutation of his sneers -will
De Foe."] hero-worship. 71
De Foe never ceased to commemorate William's bear-
ing in these passages of his life. While the Convention
debates were in progress, the calmly resolute Stadtholder
had stayed, secluded, at St. James's. Sycophants sought
access to him, counsellors would have advised with him,
in vain. He invited no popularity, he courted no party.
The only Tory chief who spoke with him, came back to
tell his friends that he set *' little value on a Crown."
The strife, the heat, the violent animosity, the doubtful
success — all that in these celebrated debates seemed to
affect his life and fortune — moved him not. He desired
nothing to be concealed from him ; but he said nothing to
his informants. This only was known : he would not hold
his crown by the apron-strings of his wife. He would
not reign but as an independent sovereign. " They are
" an inconstant people, Marshal," he quietly observed to
Schomberg.
Here, then, in the prince who now ruled over England,
was a man who also could stand alone. Here was a king
for such a subject as De Foe. We may not wonder that
the admiration conceived of him by the citizen merchant
deepened into passion. He reverenced him, loved, and
honoured him ; and kept as a festival in his house, even
to the close of his life, that great day in the month
of November which is so remarkably associated with
be given before this Essay closes. *' who, being gallantly mounted and
" Their Majesties," he says, de- *' richly accoutred, were led by the
scribing the grand day at Guild- ** Earl of Monmouth, now Earl of
hall, ' ' attended by their royal * ' Peterborough, and attended their
" highnesses and a numerous train " majesties from Whitehall. Among
" of nobility and gentry, went first " these troopers, who were for the
*' to a balcony pi-epared for them at " most part Dissenters, was Daniel
*'the Angel in Cheapside, to see *' Foe, at that time a hosier in
"the show; which, for the great *' Freeman s-yard, Cornhill ; the
"number of liverymen, the full "same who afterwards was pillo-
" appearance of the militia and " ried for writing an ironical invec-
" artillery company, the rich adorn- " tive against the Church, and did,
" ments of the pageants, and the "after that, 'list in the service of
"splendour and good order of the "Mr. Robert Harley, and those
" whole proceeding, outdid all that " brethren of his who passed the
"had been seen before upon that " Schism and Occasional bills, broke
" occasion ; and what deserved to " the confederacy, and made a
" be particularly mentioned, was a " shameful and ruinous peace with
" royal regiment of volunteer horse, "France."
" made up of the chief citizens,
72 MARRIAGE AND ILL-FORTUNE. \^Daniel
William's name. On that day, exclaimed De Foe with
enthusiasm, he was horn ; on that day he married the
daughter of England ; on that day he rescued the nation
from a bondage worse than that of Egypt, a bondage of
soul as well as bodily servitude ! Its first celebration
was held at a country house in Tooting, which it would
seem De Foe now occupied: and the manner of it
afforded in itself some proof, of what we hardly need to
be told, that the resolute, practical habits of this earnest,
busy man, were not unattended by that genial warmth of
nature which alone imparts strength of character such as
his, and without which never public virtue, and rarely
private, comes quite to its maturity. In this village, too,
in this year of the Revolution, we find him occupied in
erecting a meeting-house; in drawing together a Non-
conformist congregation ; and in providing a man of
learning for their minister. It was an object always near
his heart. For, every new foundation of that kind went
some way towards the rendering Dissent a permanent
separate interest, and an independent political body, in
the State ; and the Church's reviving heats made the task
at once imperative and easy. Wherever intemperate
language, and overbearing arrogant persecution, are cha-
racteristics of the highest churchmen, should we marvel
that sincere churchgoers turn affrighted from the flame
they see incessantly flickering about those elevated rods,
which they had innocently looked to for safe conductors ?
But, in the midst of his labours and enjoyments, there
came a stroke of evil fortune. He had married some Httle
time before this (nothing further is known on that head,
but that in the course of his life he had two wives, the
first named Mary, and the second Susannah) ; and, with
the prospect of a family growing up around him, he saw
his fortune swept suddenly away by a large unsuccessful
adventure. One angry creditor took out a commission
of bankruptcy; and De Foe, submitting meanwhile to
the rest a proposition for amicable settlement, fled from
London. A prison paid no debts, he said. " The cruelty
" of your laws against debtors, without distinction of
" honest or dishonest, is the shame of your nation. It
" is not he who cannot pay his debts, but he who can
" and win, who must necessarily be a knave. He who
De Foe.^ the sunday gentleman. 73
" is unable to pay his debts at once, may yet be able to
" pay them at leisure ; and you should not meanwhile
" murder him by law, for such is perpetual imprison-
" ment." So, from himself to his fellow-men, he rea-
soned always. No wrong or wretchedness ever befell
De Foe, which he did not with all diligence bestir him-
self to turn to the use and profit of his kind. To what
he now struggled with, through two desperate years, they
mainly owed, seven years later, that many most atro-
cious iniquities, prevailing in the bankrupt refuges of
"Whitefriars and the Mint, were repressed by statute ;^
and that the small relief of William's act was at last
reluctantly vouchsafed. He had pressed the subject
with all his power of plain strong sense, and with
a kind of rugged impressiveness, as of the cry of a
sufferer.
His place of retreat appears to have been in Bristol.
Doubtless he had merchant friends there. An acquaint-
ance of his last industrious biographer, Mr. Walter Wilson,
mentions it as an honourable tradition in his family, that
at this time one of his Bristol ancestors had often seen
and spoken with " the great De Foe." They called him,
he said, the Sunday Gentleman^ because through fear of
the bailiffs he did not dare to appear in public upon any
other day ; while on that day he was sure to be seen,
with a fine flowing wig, lace ruffles, and a sword by his
^ The extent of this service could this I will add, from another of his
only be measured for the reader by writings, an illustration of the
a description, for which this is no ''excesses" of dishonesty to which
fitting place, of the atrocities and their gross facilities tempted men :
knaveries of every kind practised in ' ' Nothing was more frequent than
those privileged haunts of desperate " for a man in full credit to buy all
and outlawed men. Well warranted ** the goods he could lay his hands
was the pride with Avhich he re- "on, and carry them directly from
marked in his old age : — *' I had ** the house he bought them at into
*' the good fortune," says he, "to " the Friars, and then send for his
" be the first that complained of ** creditors, and laugh at them,
"this encroaching evil in former "insult them, showing them their
"days, and think myself not too " own goods untouched, offer them
"vain in saying that my humble " a trifle in satisfaction, and if they
" representations, in a day when I " refused it, bid them defiance : I
" could be heard, of the abomina- " cannot refrain vouching this of
" ble insolence of bankrupts, prac- " my own knowledge, since I have
' * tised in the Mint and Friars, gave ' * more than many times been served
" the first mortal blow to the pro- " so myself."
" sperity of these excesses." To
74
IN RETIREMENT AT BRISTOL.
{Baniel
side, passing tlirough the Bristol streets/ But no time
was lost with. De Foe, whether he was watched by baiHffs,
or laid hold of by their betters. He wrote, in his present
retirement, that famous Essay which went far to form
the intellect and direct the pursuits of the most clear and
practical genius of the succeeding century. ^' There was
'^ also," says Benjamin Franklin, describing the little
library in his uncle's house, " a book of De Foe's called
" an Essay on Projects, which perhaps gave me a turn of
" thinking that had an influence on some of the principal
" future events of my life."
De Foe composed the Essay here, in Bristol ; though
it was not published until two years later. What the
^ I give what is said by Mr. Wil-
son, because of the oddity of its
conclusion, and the manifest con- .
fusion of ideas involved in it : — ■
* ' A friend informs me of a tradi-
" tion in his family, that rather
"countenances this supposition"
(of De Foe's retreat to Bristol).
'* He says, that one of his ancestors
* * remembered De Foe, and some-
*' times saw him walking in the
*' streets of Bristol, accoutred in
*' the fashion of the times, with a
" fine flowing wig, lace ruffles, and
" a sword by his side. Also, that
'* he there obtained the name of the
*' 'Sunday Gentleman,' because,
*' through fear of the bailiffs, he
** did not dare to appear in public
*' upon any other day. The fact of
'* De Foe's residence in Bristol,
** either at this or some later period
" of his life, is further corrobo-
** rated by the following circum-
* ' stance. About a century ago, as
*' the same friend informs me, there
" was a tavern in Castle-street,
• ' known by the sign of the Red
*' Lion, and kept by one Mark
*' Watkins, an intelligent man, who
" had been in better circumstances.
*• His house was in considerable
*' repute amongst the tradesmen of
** Bristol, who were in the habit of
** resorting there after dinner, for
*' the purpose of smoking their
** pipes, and hearing the news of
* the day. De Foe, following the
' custom of the times, occasionally
' mixed with them at these seasons,
' and was well known to the land-
' lord under the same name of the
' ' Sunday Gentleman.' The house
' is still standing, and is now a
* mere pot-house. The same Mark
' Watkins, it is said, used to en-
' tertain his company, in after-
* times, with an account of a sin-
' gular personage who made his
' appearance in Bristol, clothed in
' goat-skins, in which dress he was
' in the habit of walking the streets
' and went by the name of Alex-
' ander Selkirk, or Eobinson Cru-
' soe." In other words, Mr. Mark
Watkins had lived till Robinson
Crusoe was published, and then, in
his old age, with his wits not the
clearer for all those years of ale
and pipe, was apt, in still dwelling
on his recollections of the Sunday
Gentleman, to confound his quon-
dam guest with the hardly less
veritable creation of his fancy, and
to substitute the immortal mariner
for the mortal De Foe ! [This sug-
gestion has been disputed by an
acute writer in the Times, who
points out the possibility of the
real Selkirk having been actually
seen in the flesh by the jovial land-
lord, on his being brought to Bristol
by Captain Woodes-Rogers. I860.]
De Foe.'\ writing the essay on projects. 75
tendency of the age would surely be (partly by tbe
influence of the Revolution, for commerce and religious
freedom have ever prospered together ; partly by the
financial necessities of the war, and the impulse thereby
given to projects and adventure), he had promptly dis-
cerned ; and he would have turned it to profitable uses in
this most shrewd, wise, and memorable piece of writing.
It suggested reforms in the System of Banking, and a plan
for Central Country Banks ; it pointed out the enormous
advantages of an efiicient improvement of the Public
Eoads, as a source of public benefit and revenue; it
recommended, for the safety of trade, a mitigation of the
law against the honest Bankrupt, and a more effectual
law against practised knavery ; it proposed the general
establishment of Offices for Insurance, " in every case
*' of risk ; " it impressively enforced the expediency of
Friendly Societies, and of a kind of Savings Bank, among
the poor ; and, with eloquence and clear-sightedness far
in advance of the time, it urged the solemn necessity of a
greater care of Lunatics, which it described as " a par-
*' ticular rent-charge on the great family of mankind."
A man may afford to live Alone who can make solitude
eloquent with such designs as these. What a teeming
life there is in them ! — what a pregnant power and
wisdom, thrown broad-cast over the fields of the future !
To this banlo-upt fugitive, to this Sunday Gentleman and
every- day earnest workman, mth no better prospect than
a bailiff visible from his guarded window, it might not be
ill done, as it seems to us, to transfer some part of the
honour and glory we too freely assign to more prosperous
actors in the busy period of the Revolution. Could we
move to London from the side of our hero, by the four
days' Bristol coach, it would be but a paltry scene that
awaited us there. He has himself described it. " Is a
" man trusted, and then made a lord ? Is he loaded
" with honours, and put into places ? Has he the King's
" ear ? and does he eat his bread ? Then, expect he
" shall be one of the first to fly in his face ! " Such
indeed, and no other, would be the scene presented to us.
AYe should find the great Sovereign obliged to repose his
trust where no man could trust with safety ; and the first
rank growth of the new-gotten Liberty would greet us in
76 PROPOSED ACADEMY OF LETTERS. [Daniel
its most repulsive forms. We should see, there, the
double game of treachery, to the reigning and to the
banished sovereign, played out with unscrupulous perfidy
by rival statesmen ; Opposition and Office but varying
the sides of treason, from WilHam to James. There
would be the versatile Halifax, receiving a Jacobite agent
" with open arms." There would be the dry, reserved
Godolphin, engaged in double service, though without a
single bribe, to his actual and to his lawful sovereign.
There would be the soldier Churchill, paid by WilHam, yet
taking secret gold from James, and tarnishing his im-
perishable name with an infamous treachery to England.
And all^ this, wholly unredeemed by the wit and litera-
ture which graced the years of noisy faction to which it
was the prelude. As yet. Pope was in the cradle,
Addison and Steele were at Charter House, Henry St.
John was reading Greek at Christ Church, and Swift was
amanuensis in Sir William Temple's house, for his board
and twenty pounds a-year. Nor does any sign in the
present give hope of such a future. The laureateship of
Dryden has fallen on Shadwell, even Garth's Dispensary
has not yet been written, Mr. Tate and Mr. Brady are
dividing the town, the noble accents of Locke on behalf
of toleration are inaudible in the press, but Sir Eichard
Blackmore prepares his Epics, and Bishop Burnet sits
down in a terrible passion to write somebody's character
in his History. We may be well content to return to
Bristol, and take humbler part with the fortunes of Daniel
De Foe.
We have not recounted all the projects of his Essay.
The great design of Education was embraced in it, and a
furtherance of the interest of Letters. It proposed an
Academy, on the plan of that founded in France by
Eichelieu, to " encourage polite learning, establish purity
" of style, and advance the so much neglected faculty of
" correct language ; " — urging upon William, how worthy
of his high destiny it would be to ecKpse Louis Quatorze
in the peaceful arts, as much as he had eclipsed him in
the field of battle. The proposition was revived, a few
years later, in Prior's Carmen Seculare; and in 1711,
Swift stole the entire notion, and almost the very language
of De Foe, in his attempt (curious as the only printed
De Foe.l college for education of women. 77
piece to which, he ever, himself, attached his name) " to
" erect some kind of society or academy, under the
" patronage of the ministers, and protection of the Queen,
" for correcting, enlarging, polishing, and fixing our
" language." Nor let us omit recital of the Military
College which De Foe would have raised ; of his project
for the Abolition of Impressment ; and of his College for
the Education of Women. His rare and high opinion of
women had given him a just contempt for the female
training of his time. He could not think, he said, that
Grod ever made them so delicate, so glorious creatures, to
be only stewards of our houses, our cooks, and slaves. " A
" woman well-bred and well-taught, furnished with the
*' additional accomplishments of knowledge and behaviour,
" is a creature without comparison. Her society is the
" emblem of sublimer enjoyments ; she is all softness
" and sweetness, love, wit, and delight." This pleasant
passage might have been written by Steele.
His Bristol exile was now closed, by the desired
arrangement with his creditors. They consented to com-
pound his liabilities for five thousand pounds, and to take
his personal security for the payment. In what way he
discharged this claim, and what reward they had who
trusted him, an anecdote of thirteen years' later date (set
down in the book of an enemy) will tell. While the
quid-nuncs of the cofi'ee-houses raged against him at the
opening of the reign of Anne, a knot of intemperate
assailants in one of them were suddenly interrupted by
a person who sat at a table apart from theirs. " Come,
" gentlemen," he said, " let us do justice. I know this
" De Foe as well as any of you. I was one of his cre-
" ditors ; compounded with him, and discharged him
" fully. Years afterwards he sent for me ; and though
" he was clearly discharged, he paid me all the remainder
" of his debt voluntarily, and of his own accord ; and he
" told me, that, so far as God should enable him, he
" meant to do so with every body." The man added,
that he had placed his signature to a paper of acknow-
ledgment, after a long list of other names. Of many
witnesses to the same efiect, only one other need be cited.
Four years later, when the House of Lords had been the
scene of a libel against him worse than that of.the cofi'ee-
/X^ OP TH«*^^^t
78 HONOUR AND ADVENTURE IN TRADE. \Daniel
house disputants, but with, no one to interrupt or put the
libeller to shame, De Foe himself made an unpretending
pubhc statement, to the effect that the sums he had at
that time discharged of his own mere motion, without
obligation, " with a numerous family, and no help but
" his own industry," amounted to upwards of twelve
thousand pounds. Not as a matter of pride did he state
this, but to intimate that he had not failed in duty.
The discharge of law could not discharge the conscience.
The obligation of an honest mind, he said, can never
die.
He did not return to Freeman's-court. He had other
views. Some foreign merchants, by whom he was held
in high esteem, desired to settle him as a large factor in
Cadiz ; but he could not be induced to leave England.
It was his secret hope to be able to serve the King. Nor
had many months passed before we find him " concerned
" with some eminent persons at home," in proposing
ways and means to the government for raising money to
supply the occasions of the war. Resulting in some sort
from this employment, seems to have been the office
which he held for four years (till the determination of the
commission, 1694 — 1699), of Accountant to the Commis-
sioners of the Glass Duty.^ And, not unnaturally, one
may suppose it to be not distantly a part of the same
desire to draw round him a certain association with the
interests and fortunes of his sovereign, that he also at
this time undertook a large adventure in the making of
what were called Dutch pantiles. He established exten-
sive tile-kiln and brick-kiln works at Tilbury, on the
Thames ; where it was his boast to have given, for several
years, employment "to more than a hundred poor
" workmen." He took a house, too, by the side of the
river, and amused himself with a saihng boat he kept
there.^
^ He dedicates his Essay on Pro- " treated of, and more capable
jects to Dal by Thomas, "not," he ''than the greatest part of man-
tells him, " as commissioner under *' kind to distinguish and under-
** whom I have the honour to serve '* stand them." Dal by Thomas,
** his Majesty, nor as a friend, afterwards Sir Dalby, was a great
** though I have great obligations of West India merchant of the time.
" that sort also ; but as the most - I quote one of his many anec-
*' proper judge of the subjects dotes of this river-side life, for the
De Foe.'j river-side life.
79
We fancy him now, not seldom, among the rude,
daring men, who made the shore of the great London
river, in those days, a place of danger and romance —
" Friends of the sea, and foes of all that live on it."
He knew, it is certain, the Kyds as well as the Dampiers
of that boisterous, adventurous, bucaniering, Ocean breed.
"With no violent effort, we now imagine him fortifying
his own resolution, and contempt of danger, by theirs ;
looking, through their rough and reckless souls, face to
face with that appalling courage they inherited from
the vikings and sea- conquerors of old ; listening to their
risks and wanderings for a theme of robust example,
some day, to reading landsmen ; and already, it may be,
throwing forward his pleased and stirred imagination
into solitary wildernesses and desert islands,
" Placed far amid the melancholy main."
But, for the present, he turns back with a more prac-
tical and earnest interest to the solitary resident at St.
James's. It will not be too much to say, that, at this
moment, the most unpopular man in England was the
man who had saved England. The pensioner of France,
the murderer of Sydney and Yane, had more homage and
sake of the fact it records in natu- " the river just at that time, and
ral history. He is speaking of the " I believe near two pecks of them
period at which the ant becomes *' fell into the boat. They fell so
furnished with wings, as if it were * ' thick, that I believe my hatful
a direction to change its habitation. * ' came down the funnel of two
"Being thus equipped, 'they fly "chimneys in my house, which
** away in great multitudes, seek- *' stood near the river's edge ; and
** ing new habitations, and, not " in proportion to this quantity,
" being well practised in the use of " they fell for the space, as I could
"their wings, they grow weary, " observe, of half a mile in breadth
"and, pressing one another do^vn "at least: some workmen I em-
" by their own weiglit, when they " ployed there said they spread
"begin to tire they fall like a " two miles, but then they fell not
" shower. I once knew a flight of " so thick, and they continued fall-
" these ants come over the marshes "ing for near three miles. Any
" from Essex, in a most prodigious " body will imagine the quantity
* ' quantity, like a black cloud. ' ' thus collected together must be
" They began to fall about a mile " prodigious ; but, if again they
" before they came to the Thames, "will observe the multitude of
" and in flying over the river, they " these ant-hills, and the millions
" fell so thick that the water was " of creatures to be seen in them,
" covered with them. I had two " they will cease to wonder."
" servants rowing a small boat over
80 INGRATITUDE TO THE DELIVERER. \_Damel
respect for lounging about with his spaniels, and feeding
the ducks in St. James's Park, than was ever attained by
him who had rescued and exalted two great countries,
to whom the depressed Protestant interest throughout
the world owed its renovated hope and strength, and
who had gloriously disputed Europe with Louis the
Fourteenth.
Yes ! this was the man whom the most powerful in
England were now combined to harass and oppose ; whom
they reproached with the very services he had rendered
them ; whom they insulted by the baseness of their in-
trigues against him ; in whose face, to use the striking
expression employed by De Foe, they flung the filth of
their own passions. " I confess," he exclaimed with an
irrepressible and noble indignation, " my blood boils at the
" thought of it ! Prodigious ingratitude ! Canst thou
" not, 0 man ! be content to be advanced without merit,
" but thou must repine at them that have merit without
" reward ? You helped to make him king, you helped to
" save your country and ruin him, you helped to recover
*' your own liberties and those of your posterity, and now
*' you claim rewards from him ! Has he not rewarded
" you, by sacrificing his peace, his comfort, his fortune,
" and his country to support you ? As a prince, how great
" he was — how splendid, how happy, how rich, how easy,
" and how justly valued both by friends and enemies !
" He lived in the field glorious, feared by the enemies of
*' his country, loved by the soldiery, having a vast inherit-
" ance of his own, governor of a rich State, blessed with
'' the best of consorts, and, as far as this life could give,
" completely happy. Compare this with the gaudy crown
" you gave him, which, had a visible scheme been laid
" with it of all its uneasinesses, dangers, crosses, disap-
*' pointments, and dark prospects, no wise man would
" have taken ofi" the dunghill, or come out of jail to be
" master of. His perils have been your safety, his labours
" your ease, his cares your comfort, his continued harass-
*' ing and fatigue your continued calm and tranquillity.
*' When you sit down to eat, why have you not soldiers
" quartered in your houses, to command your servants
" and insult your tables ? It is because King William
" subjected the military to the civil authority, and made
Be Foe.'] tribute to wt:lliam the third. 81
" the sword of justice triumph over the sword of war,
" When you lie down at night, why do you not bolt and
" bar your chamber, to defend the chastity of your wives
'' and daughters from the ungoverned lust of raging
" mercenaries ? It is because King William restored the
" sovereignty and dominion of the laws, and made the
" red-coat world servants to them that paid them. When
" you receive your rents, why are not arbitrary defalca-.
" tions made upon your tenants, arbitrary imposts laid
" upon your commerce, and oppressive taxes levied upon
" your estates, to support the tyranny that demands them
" and make your bondage strong at your own expense ?
" It is because King William re-established the essential
" security of your properties, and put you in that happy
" condition which few nations enjoy, of calling your souls
" your own. How came you by a parliament, to balance
" between the governed and the governing, but upon King
" Wilham's exalting liberty upon the ruin of oppression ?
" How came you to have power to abuse your deliverer,
" but by the very deliverance he wrought for you ? He
*' supported you in those privileges you ungratefully
" bullied him mth, and gave you the liberty you took to
*' insult him ! "
Such was De Foe's living and lofty appeal against the
assailants and detractors of our great King ; and, after
proof and trial of nearly two centuries, how small is the
exception to be taken to its warmth of generous partizan-
ship ! If we see here and there a defect which was not
visible to him, is there a greatness he commemorates
which we do not also see, indelibly written in our English
history? We may be far from thinking William a faiolt-
less Prince : but what to Princes who have since reigned
has been a plain and beaten path, was rendered so by his
experience and example ; and our wonder should be, not
that he stumbled, but that he was able to walk at all in
the dark and thorny road he travelled.' He undertook
the vexed, and till then unsolved, problem of Consti-
tutional Government ; but he came to rule as a monarch,
and not as a party chief. He, whom foolish bigots libel
^ Since the date of this Essay, racter and memory of William the
Lord Macaulay's History has paid Third,
its magnificent tribute to the cha-
82 WHIG AND TORY FACTION^. \_Daniel
witli their admiration, came to unite, and not to separate ;
to tolerate, and not to persecute ; to govern one people,
and not to raise and depress alternate classes. Of the
many thousand churchmen who had been preaching
passive obedience before his arrival, only four hundred
refused to acknowledge his government of active resistance;
but he lived to find those four hundred his most honour-
able foes. From the very heart of the councils that sur-
rounded his throne, arose the worst treason against him.
His Church overthrew him in his first attempt to legislate
in a spirit of equal religious justice. His Whig ministers
withdrew from him what they thought an unjust preroga-
tive, because they had given him what they thought a
just title. His Tory opposition refused him what they
counted a just prerogative, on the ground of what they
held to be an unjust title. Tories joined with Whigs
against a standing army, and Whigs joined with Tories
against a larger toleration. "I can see no difi'erence
" between them," said William to the elder Halifax, " but
" that the Tories would cut my throat in the morning,
" and the Whigs in the afternoon."
And yet there was a difference. The Whigs would
have given him more than that " longer day." In the
Tory ranks there was no public character so pure as that
of Somers ; the high-church Bishops could show at
least no intellect equal to Burnet's ; among the Tory
financiers, there was no such clear accomplishment and
wit as those of Charles Montagu, the later Halifax. Nor,
even when with all his heats of advocacy he flung him-
self into the struggle on the King's behalf, did De Foe
omit to remember this. In all his writings he failed not
to enforce it. When he most grieved that there should
be union to exact from the Deliverer of England what
none had ever thought of exacting from her Enslavers, it
was that men so difi'erent should compose it. When he
supported a moderate standing army against the Whigs,
it was with a Whig reason ; that " not the King, but the
'' sword of England in the hand of the King, should
*' secure peace and religious freedom." When he opposed
a narrow civil list against the Whigs, it was with no
Tory reason ; but because " the King had wasted his own
" patrimony in a war undertaken for the defence of
De FGe.~\ a meeting at hampton court. 83"
" religion and liberty/' Nay, wlien lie opposed the King
himself, in his Reasons against a War mith France, it was
on a ground which enabled the Whigs, soon after, to
direct and prosecute the mighty struggle which for ever
broke the tyranny and supremacy of France. *'He that
" desires we shoul-d end the war honorably, ought to
" desire also that we begin it fairly. Natural antipathies
" are no just ground of a war against nations; neither are
" popular opinions : nor is every invasion of a right a
" good reason for war, until redress has first been peaceably
" demanded."
If William was to find himself again reconciled to the
Whigs, it would be by the influence of such Whiggery
as this. Indeed, it soon became apparent to him, even
in the midst of general treachery, by which of the traitors
he could most ef&ciently be served; and when, being
made aware of the Jacobite correspondences of the Whig
Duke of Shrewsbury, he sent him a Colonel of Guards
with the seals of office in one hand and a warrant of
treason in the other, to give him his choice of the
Cabinet or the Tower, he but translated, in his decisive
fearless way, the shrewd practical counsel of Daniel
De Foe.
That this merchant financier and speculator, this warm,
jret wary advocate, this sagacious politician, this homely
earnest man of business, should early have made his
value known to such a sovereign, we cannot doubt. It
was not till a later service, indeed, that the private
cabinet of William was open to him; but, before the-
Queen's death it is certain he had access to the palace,
and that Mary had consulted him in her favourite task
of laying out Hampton Court gardens. It is, to us, very
pleasing to contemplate the meeting of such a sovereign
and such a subject, as William and De Foe. There was
something not dissimilar in their physical aspect, as in
their moral temperament resemblances undoubtedly ex-
isted. The King was the elder by ten years ^ but the
middle size, the spare figure, the hooked nose,, the sharp
chin, the keen grey eye, the large forehead^ and grave
appearance, were common to both. William's manner
was cold, except in battle ; and little warmth was ascribed
to De Foe's, unless he spoke of civil liberty. There would
G 2
84 SOVEREIGN AND SUBJECT. \_Damel
be little recognition of Literature on either hand, yet
nothing looked for that was not amply given. When the
Stadtholder, in his practical way, complimented St Evre-
mont on having been a major-general in France, the
dandy man of letters took offence ; but, if the King merely
spoke to De Foe as one who had borne arms with Mon-
mouth, we will answer for it there was no disappointed
vanity. Here, in a word, was profound good sense on
both sides ; substantial scorn of the fine and the roman-
tic ; impassive firmness ; a good broad, buffeting style of
procedure ; and dauntless force of character, — a King who
ruled by popular choice, and a Subject who represented
that choice without a tinge of faction.
Of how few then living but De Foe, might that last
remark be made ! Of how few, even of the best "Whigs,
was it true that their Whiggism found no support in
personal spite ! At this very time, old Dryden could but
weep when he thought of Prior and Charles Montagu
(" for two young fellows I have always been civil to, to
" use an old man in so cruel a manner'') : but De Foe,
even while assailing the licence of the stage, spoke
respectfully of Dryden, and, when condemning his
changes of belief in later years, made admission of his
^' extraordinary genius." At this" time Prior, so soon to
become a Jacobite, was writing to Montagu that he had
" faced old James and all his court, the other day, at
" St. Cloud ; vive Guillaume I You never saw such a
*' strange figure as the old bully is ; lean, worn, and
^^ riv'led : " but De Foe, in the publication wherein he
most had exalted William, had also described with his
most manly pathos James's personal maltreatment and
desertion.
We repeat that the great sovereign would find, in such
a spirit as this, the nearest resemblance to his own ; and,
it may be, the best ultimate corrective of that weary im-
patience of the Factions which made his English sove-
reignty so hard a burden. It was better discipline, on
the whole, than he had from his old friend Sir William
Temple, whom, on his difficulty with the ultra-factious
Triennial bill, he went to Moor Park to consult : when
the wary diplomatist could but set his Irish amanuensis,
Mr. Jonathan Swift, to draw up wise precedents for the
De Foe,'] settlement of the revolution. 85
monarch's quiet digestion of the bill, Whigs, Tories, and
all ; and the monarch could but drily express his thanks
to Mr. Swift, by teaching him to digest asparagus, against
all precedent, by swallowing stalks and all.
Those great questions of Triennial bill, of Treason bill,
of Settlement Securities bill, whether dictated by wisdom
or by faction, we need touch but lightly here. All worked
wisely. Urged by various motives, they tended yet to a
common end. Silently, steadily, securely, while the roar
of dispute and discontent swelled and raged above, the
soKd principles of the Revolution were rooting themselves
deep in the soil below. The Censorship of the Press ex-
pired in 1694 ; no man in the State was found to suggest
its renewal ; and it passed away for ever. ^Yhat, before,
it had been the interest of government to impeach, it was
now its interest to maintain ; what the Tories formerly
would have checked in the power of the House of Com-
mons, their interests now compelled them to extend. All
became committed to the principle of Resistance ; and,
whether for party or for patriotism, Liberty was the cry
of all. De Foe turned aside from politics, when their
aspect seemed for a time less virulent ; and applied him-
self to what is always of intimate connection with them,
and of import yet more momentous, — the moral aspects of
the time.
We do not, however, think that he always penetrated
with success to the heart of a moral question. He was
somewhat obstructed, at the threshold, by the formal and
limited points of Presbyterian breeding ; and there were
depths in morals and in moral causes, which undoubtedly
he never sounded. Even the more practical and earnest
features of his character had in this respect brought their
disadvantages ; and, on some points, stopped him short
of that highest reach and grace of intellect, which in a
consummate sense constitutes the ideal, and takes leave
of the merely shrewd, solid, acute, and palpable. The
god of reality and matter-of-fact, is not always in these
things a divine god. But there was a manliness and
courage well worthy of him in the general tone he took,
and the game at which he flew. He represented in his
Essay, the Poor Man ; and his object was to show that
Acts of ParHament were useless, which enabled those who
86 SOCIAL AND SECTARIAN QUESTIONS. \_Daniel
administered tliem to pass over in their own class what
they punished in classes below them. He arraigned that
tendency of English legislation, which afterwards passed
into a proverb, to '^ punish men for being poor." Abun-
dant were the penalties, he admitted, against vtcious
practices, but, severe as they were, they were all of cob-
web structure, in which only the small flies were caught,
while the great ones broke through ; and he set forth a
petition, pregnant with sense and wit, that the Stocks and
House of Correction should be straightway abolished,
" till the Nobility, Gentry, Justices of the Peace, and
" Clergy, will be pleased to reform their own manners."
He lived in an age of Justice Midases and Parson Trul-
libers, and he assails both with singular bitterness.
^' The Parson preaches a thundering sermon against
^^ drunkenness, and the Justice sets my poor neighbour
" in the 'stocks ; and I am Hke to be much the better for
" either, when I know that this same Parson and this
" same Justice were both drunk together but the night
*' before."
He knows little of De Foe, who would suspect him of
a class-prejudice of his own in this. When, in the pre-
sent year, the Presbyterian Lord Mayor, going in his
robes and chain in the morning to the church, and in the
afternoon to the Pinner's-hall meeting-house, raised a
vehement and bitter discussion on the question of Occa-
sional Conformity, — ardent Dissenter though he was, De
Foe did not hesitate to take part with the Church. He
could not see, he said, why Sir Humphrey Edwin should
wish, like a boy upon a holiday, to display his fine clothes
at either church or meeting-house. In a religious view,
he thought that if it was a point of conscience with a
Dissenter not to conform to the Established Church, he
could not possibly receive a dispensation to do so from
the mere fact of his holding a civic office ; in a political
view, he held what was called Occasional Conformity
to be a surrender of the dignity and independence of
Dissent, likely to lead to larger and dangerous conces-
sions ; and he maintained these opinions with great force
of argument. He was in the right ; and the party never
forgave him. On no question, no matter how deeply
affecting their common interests, could the Dissenters
De Foe.^ attack upon the stage. 87
afterwards bring themselves to act cordially with. De Foe.
Pious Presbyterian ministers took his moral treatises into
their pulpits with them, cribbed from them, preached
upon their texts, largely quoted them, but were careful
to suppress his name.
Another point of attack in his publications on the
manners of his time, had reference to the Stage. "With
whatever views we approach the consideration of this
subject, there can be but one opinion of the existing
condition of the theatres. They were grossly profligate.
Since that year after the Restoration in which Mr.
Evelyn saw the performance of Hamlet^ and had reason
to note that " the old plays begin to disgust this refined
" age, since his Majesty's being so long abroad,'' vice had
made its home in the theatres. Nor had any check been
at this time given to it. The severe tone of William Ill's
Court had only made the contrast more extreme. Collier
had not yet published his Short Vieic. Burnet had not
yet Aviitten that volume of his Own Time wherein he
described, with perhaps more truth than logic, the stage
as the corrupter of the town, and the bad people of the
town as the corrupters of the stage ; and proclaimed it a
" shame to our nation and religion to see the stage so
" reformed in France, and so polluted still in England."
Neither was the evil merely left unrestrained ; for it had
lately received potent assistance from the unequalled wit
of Congreve, whose Maskwell and Lady Touchwood were
now affecting even the ladies in the lobbies, and their
male attendants, with a touch of shame. Nevertheless,
while we admit his excellent intention, we cannot think
that De Foe made any figure in the argument. He many
times returned to it, but never with much effect. His
objections would as freely have applied to the best-con-^
ducted theatre. Nor, in the special immoralities assigned,
had he hit the point exactly. To bring women into the
performance of female characters was a decided improve-
ment. The morals of Charles the Second's age, though
openly and generally worse, were, in particular respects,
not so bad as those of James the First ; neither was the
stage of even Wycherley and Etherege so deeply immoral
".-*, that of Beaumont and Fletcher.
:7e do not know if the Muses resented, in De Foe's
88 VERSES FUGITIVE AND PERMANENT. [Daniel
case, this unfriendliness to one of their favourite haunts ;
but, when he attempted to woo them on his account,
they answered somewhat coyly to his call. A collection
of Fugitive Yerses, published by Dunton, appeared at
this time — " made/' says the eccentric bookseller, " by
" the chief wits of the age ; namely, Mr. Motteux, Mr.
" De Foe, Mr. Richardson, and, in particular, Mr. Tate,
" now poet'laureat." (Swift was among them, too, but
not important enough yet to be named.) Mr. De Foe's
contribution was, " The character of Dr. Annesley by
" way of Elegy ; " and we must confess, of this elegiacal
tribute to the memory of his old Presbyterian pastor,
that it seems to us rightly named Fugitive ; whether we
apply the word actively to the poetry that flies away, or
passively to that which makes the reader do the same.
De Foe lost a part of his strength, his facility, and his
fancy, when he wrote in verse. Yet, even in verse, he
made a lucky, nervous hit, now and then ; and the best
of his efforts was the True-horn Englishman.
It appeared in 1701. It was directed against the un-
relenting and bitter attacks from which William at that
time more particularly suffered, on the ground of his
birth and of the friends he had ennobled. They were no
true-born Englishmen : that was the cant in vogue. Mr.
Tutchin's poem of The Foreigners was on every body's
tongue. The feeling had vented itself, in the previous
year, on that question of the dismissal of the Dutch
Guards, which the King took so sorely to heart. The
same feeling had forced the Tories into power ; it had
swelled their Tory majority with malcontent Whigs ;
and it now threatened the fair and just rewards which
William had offered to his deserving Generals. It is
recorded of him at this juncture, that even his great
silent heart at last gave way. " My Guards have done
" for them what they could not do for themselves, and
" they sen^i them from me." He paced his cabinet in
uncontrollable emotion. He would have called out his
assailants, he said, if he had been a private man. If he
had not had the obligation of other than private duties,
he would have resigned the crown.
Then it was that De Foe stepped in with his timely
service. The True-horn Englishman was a doggerel, but
De Foe.~\ the true-born englisipian. 89
a fine one. It was full of earnest, weighty sense ; of
excellent history ; of the nicest knowledge of our English
character ; and it thrust right home at the point in issue.
It proved the undeniable truth, that, so far from being of
pure birth and blood. Englishmen are the most mixed
race on the earth, and owe to that very circumstance
their distinction over other feebler races. Whilst others,
for the lack of such replenishment, have dwindled or
periihed, the English have been invigorated and sustained
by it, and their best blood has owed its continual pre-
dominance mainly to the very rudeness and strength of
the admixture. This True-horn Englishman exposed a
vulgar prejudice, even as it flattered a reasonable vanity ;
and few things of a merely temporary interest have ever
equalled its success. Its first four lines,
* ' Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
Tlie Devil always builds a chapel there ;
And 'twill be found, upon examination,
The latter has the largest congregation," —
are all that perhaps fairly dan be said to have survived,
of couplets that were then shouted from street to street ;
yet it would be easy, by any dozen lines taken at random
from those that have perished out of memory, to show not
only its merit as a vigorous piece of writing, but the art
with which it appealed to the common people. Such an
example might at once be taken from the passage which
exhibits Charles the Second, with a view to fresh supply
against the drain upon noble blood occasioned by the
Civil ^7ars, contributing himself six dukes to the peerage
of England —
* ' And carefully repeoj)ling us again,
Throughout his lazy, long, lascivious reign ;
French cooks,' Scotch pedlars, and Italian whores,
Were all made lords or lords' progenitors.
Beggars and bastards by his new creation
Still multiplied the peerage of the nation.
Who will be all, ere one short age runs o'er,
As true-born lords as those we had before ;
Then, with true English pride, they may contemn
Schomberg and Portland, new-made noblemen ! "
The instant popularity of the satire was astonishingly
great. Besides the nine editions of which De Foe himself
90 SERVICES TO THE KING. \_Daniel
received tlie profit, upwards of twelve editions were pirated,
printed, and sold, in defiance of his interdict. More than
eighty thousand copies, we are told, were thus disposed of
in the streets alone. But it is more important to have to
remark, that it destroyed the cant against which it was
directed. " Nothing was more frequent in our mouths
" before that ; nothing so universally blushed for and
" laughed at, since. Whereas, before, you had it in the
" best writers, and in the most florid speeches, before the
" most august assemblies, upon the most solemn occasions,''
— Now, without a blush or a laugh, you never heard it
named.
It may be doubted if this great King had ever so
deeply felt a service. His opportunities were few. De
Foe has recorded how he was sent for to the palace, on
the special occasion of his book; with what kindness
he was received ; " how employed ; and how, above his
" capacity of deserving, rewarded." His free access to
William's cabinet never ceased from this time. There
are statements, throughout his writings, of the many
points of public policy he had been permitted frankly to
discuss with the sovereign. On the agitated questions
of the Partition Treaties, he was many times consulted ;
and there was one grand theme, nobly characteristic
of the minds of both, often recurred to in these inter-
views. It was the Union of Scotland with England.
" It shall be done," said WilHam ; " but not yet."
Other things more nearly and closely pressed him then.
The rapid growth and march of the Revolution might
be aptly measured by the incidents and disputes of the
last year of his reign. They turned solely on the power
claimed by the lower house of legislature. In several
ably- written pamphlets, and particularly in a Letter dis-
tinguished for its plain and nervous diction, and in which
the grounds of popular representation were so happily
condensed and clearly stated, that it has been a text-book
of political disputants from the days of the expulsion of
Walpole and of Wilkes to those of the Reform Bill,' —
^ This remarkable pamphlet in over the Delegated authority, and
defence of Popular Rights, may be remains still, as it was when first
briefly described as a demonstration written, the most able, plain, and
of the predominance of the Original courageous exposition in our lau-
Be Foe ] defence of popular rights. 91
De Foe impugned the full extent of the claim on tlie
ground of a non- representation of the people ; but a
power had lately arisen, within the House itself, indicative
guage, of the doctrine on wliich our
own and all free political consti-
tutions rest. Its argument proceeds
from four general propositions,
which are worked out with masterly
power and clearness. The first is,
That all government is contrived
and instituted by the consent and
for the mutual benefit and protec-
tion of the governed. The second,
That its constituent members,
whether King, Lords or Commons,
if they invert the great end of their
institution, cease to be, and sur-
render their power to the source
from which it proceeded. The
third, That no collective or repre-
sentative body of men whatsoever,
in matters of politics or religion,
have been infallible. And the
fourth, That reason is the test and
touchstone of laws, which cease to
be binding, and become void, when
contradictory to reason. Of which
propositions the close and insepa-
rable interdependence is shown, hj
exhibiting the respective relations
and obligations of the various autho-
rities of the State to each other, and
to their supreme head ; it being the
grand purpose of the argument to
demonstrate the sole safety and
efficacy of the latter in the final
resort. "For, notwithstanding all
* ' the beauty of our constitution,
"and the exact symmetry of its
" parts, about which some have
*' been so very eloquent, this noble,
" well-contrived system has been
*' overwhelmed, the government has
*' been inverted, the people's liber-
*' ties have been trampled on,
'* and parliaments have been ren-
** dered useless and insignificant.
" And what has restored us ? The
" last resort has been to the people,
" Vox Dei has been found there,
*' not in the representatives, but in
■*' their original, the represented."
And let no man dread such last
resort, wisely adds De Foe. For
what say the practical results of
history as to the unvarying political
tendencies of the English people ?
" The genius of this nation has
" always appeared to tend to a
"limited monarchy; and having
" had, in the late Revolution, a
*' full and interrupted liberty to
" cast themselves into what form
" of government they pleased, there
'* was not discovered the least in-
'* clination in any party to a com-
" mon wealth, though the treatment
" they met with from their last two
" kings had all in it that could be;
*' to put them out of love with
" monarchy. A commonwealth
" can never be introduced but by
" such invasions of right as must
" make our constituted government
'* impracticable. C^he reason is,
" because men never willingly
* ' change for the worse ; and the
" people of England enjoy more
" freedom in our regal, than any
* ' people in the world can do in a
" popular government.") But were
it otherwise, not the less must this
thorough Englishman uphold the
superiority of the original power.
Before there was such a thing as a
Constitution, there must have been
a People ; and, as the end to which
authority is delegated can never be
other than the public good, upon
the unquestioned assertion of all
men's right to the government of
themselves must also rest the most
absolute and express confirmation
that such delegated authority can
receive. Addressing the King, he
says, "It is not the least extra-
" ordinary attribute of your ma-
" jesty's character, that, as you are
" king of your people, so you are
" the people's king ; a title, as it is
" the most glorious, so it is the
" most indisputable in the world.
" Your majesty, among all the
* ' blessings of your reign, has re-
'* stored this as the best of all our
92
HARLEY AND THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
[Baniel
of the changed relations of the Government of England,
mser in effect than the wisdom of Somers, and more
cunning than the cunning of Sunderland. " The Tories,"
said the latter to William, '' are better speakers than the
" Whigs in the House of Commons^ It had arisen into
a peculiar art — this art of oratory — there. Confessedly-
one of the most influential of its members was he whom
the last three parliaments of William elected for their
Speaker ; yet no man would have listened patiently for
five minutes to Robert Harley, anywhere but in the
House of Commons. There, he was supreme. The
country gentlemen voted for him, though they remem-
bered that his family went to a meeting- house. The
younger members put forth their most able and graceful
representative to honour him, when Henry St. John
seconded his third nomination. And posterity itself had
cause to be grateful to him, when, employing for once this
influence in its service, he joined Tory and Whig in a
common demand for the best securities of the Act of
Settlement. It was not genius, it was not eloquence, it
" enjoyments— tlie full liberty of
" Original Right ; and your majesty
*' knows too well the nature of go-
" vernment to think it at all the
*' less honourable, or the more pre-
" carious, for being devolved from,
' ' and centred in, the consent of
'• your people." To the Lords, he
conceded their place as an indepen-
dent branch of the Constitution, and
then tells them : "The rest of the
" freeholders have originally a right
•' to sit there with you ; but, being
" too numerous a body, they have
" long since agreed that whenever
*' the King thinks fit to advise with
" his people, they will choose a cer-
** tain few out of their great body
" to meet together with your Lord-
*' ships. Here is the original of
* ' parliaments ; and, when thrones
*' become vacant, to this original
" all power of course returns, as
*' was the case at the Revolution."
To the House of Commons, finally,
as the representatives of the col-
lected body of the people, De Foe
turns ; and with his very striking
address to them, may be closed this
imperfect sketch of a very important
and powerful political tract : "To
" you they have trusted, jointly
' ' with the King and the Lords, the
" power of making laws, raising
" taxes, and impeaching criminals ;
" but it is in the name of all the
' ' Commons of England, whose re-
" presentatives you are. All this
' ' is not said to lessen your autho-
' ' rity, which cannot be the interest
" of any English ireeholder : but if
* ' you are dissolved (for you are not
*' immortal), or if you are deceived
" (for you are not infallible), it was
" never supposed, till very lately,
" that all power dies with you.
" You may die, but the People re-
* ' main ; you may be dissolved, and
"all immediate right may cease;
" power may have its intervals, and
" crowns their interregnum : but
" Original Power endures to the
" same eternity as the world eu-
" dures."
De Fce,~\ kentish petition and legion memorial. 93
was not statesmansliip, that had given Harley this extra-
ordinary power. It was House of Commons tact. It
was a thing born of the Eevolution ; and of which the
aim and tendency, through whatever immediate effects,
was in the end to strengthen and advance the Revolution.
For, it rested on the largest principles, even while it ap-
pealed to the meanest passions.
There was something very striking in the notion of
De Foe, to bring it suddenly face to face with those
higher principles ; and this he did in his Kentish Petition
and Legion Memorial. In all the histories which relate
the Tory impeachment of AYilliam^s four Whig lords,
will be found that counter-impeachment of the House
of Commons itself, preferred in the name of the entire
population of England, and comprising fifteen articles of
treason against their authority. It was creating a People,
it is true, before the people had declared themselves;
but it was done with the characteristic reality of genius,
and had a startling effect. As Harley passed into the
House, a man muffled in a cloak placed the Memorial in
his hands. The Speaker knew De Foe's person, and is
said by the latter to have recognised him ; but he kept
his counsel.
No one has doubted, that in the excitement of the
debates that followed, the Whigs and William recovered
much lost ground ; and the coffee-houses began to talk
mightily of a pamphlet written by Temple's quondam
secretary, now the Reverend Jonathan Swift, parish priest
and vicar of Laracor, wherein Lord Portland figured as
Phocion, Lord Oxford as Themistocles, Lord Halifax as
Pericles, and Lord Somers as Aristides. The subsequent
declaration of war against France still further cheered
and consoled the King. He sent for De Foe, received
from him a scheme for opening new " channels of trade "
in connection with the Avar, and assigned to him a main
part in its execution.^ He felt that he ruled at last,
1 The drift of this scheme was ing account of it : *'I gave you an
for directing such operations against " instance of a proposal which 1 had
the Spanish possessions in the West * ' the honour to lay before his late
Indies as might open new channels *' Majesty, at the beginning of the
of trade, and render the war self- * ' last war, for the sending a strong
supporting. Writing about it some * ' fleet to the Havannah, to seize
years later, De Foe gives the follow- '* that part of the island in which
94 DEATH OF WILLIAM THE THIRD. [^Daniel
and was probably never so reconciled to his adopted
kingdom. But, in tbe midst of grand designs and
hopes, he fell from his horse in hunting, sickened for a
month, and died.
There are many Mock Mourners at royal deaths, and,
in a poem with that title, De Foe would have saved his
hero's memory from them. He claimed for him nobler
homage than such tributes raise, " to damn their former
" follies by their praise. "*' He told what these mourners
were, while yet their living King appeared, " and what
" they knew they merited, they feared." He described
what has since become matter of history, that toast of
" William's horse," which had lightened all their festi-
vities since his accident : — " 'twould lessen much our
" woe, had Sorrel stumbled thirteen years ago." And
he closed with eloquent mention of the heroic death
which Burnet's relation made so distasteful to High
Church bigotry :
*' No conscious guilt disturb'd his royal breast,
Calm as the regions of eternal rest."
The sincerity of the grief of De Foe had in this work
lifted his verse to a higher and firmer tone. It was a
heartfelt sorrow. There was no speeding the going, wel-
coming the coming sovereign, for De Foe. Nothing
could replace, nothing too gratefully remember, the past.
It was his pride always after to avouch, that to have been
" trusted, esteemed, and, much more than I deserved,
" valued by the best king England ever saw," was more
than a compensation for what inferior men could inflict
upon him. When, in later years, Lord Haversham de-
nounced him in the House of Lords as a mean and mer-
cenary writer, he told that ungrateful servant of King
" it is situated, and from thence to ** been enabled to support this war.
** seize and secure the possession of "But the King died, in whose
*' at least the coast, if not by coiise- " hands this glorious scheme was in
*' quence the Terra Fir ma, of the *' a fair way of being concerted,
** empire of Mexico, and thereby *' and which, had it gone on, I had
** entirely cut off the Spanish com- *' had the honour to have been not
"merce and the return of their "the first proposer only, but to
"Plate fleets; by the immense " have had some share in the per-
* ' riches whereof, and by which * ' formance."
* ' only, both France and Spain have
De FoeJ] character of queen anne. 95
William, that if lie should say he had the honour to know
something from his majesty, and to transact something
for him, which he would not have trusted Lord Ha-
versham with, perhaps there might he more truth than
modesty in it. Still, to the very last, it was his theme.
'' I never forget his goodness to me," he said, when his
own life was wearing to its close. " It was my honour
'^ and advantage to call him master as well as sovereign.
" I never patiently heard his memory slighted, nor ever
" can do so. Had he lived, he would never have suffered
" me to he treated as I have heen in this world." Aye !
good, brave, Daniel De Foe ! There is indeed but sorry
treatment in store for you.
The accession of Anne was the signal for Tory re-
joicings. She was thirty-seven, and her character was
formed and known. It was a compound of weakness and
of bigotry, but in some sort these availed to counteract
each other. Devotion to a High Church principle was
needful to her fearful conscience ; but reliance on a
woman-favourite was needful to her feeble mind. She
found Marlborough and Godolphin in office, where they
had been placed by their common kinsman, Sunderland ;
and she raised Godolphin to the post of Lord Treasurer,
and made Marlborough Captain-General. Even if she had
not known them to be opponents of the Whigs, she would
yet have done this ; for she had been some years under the
influence of Marlborough's strong-minded wife, and that
influence availed to retain the same advisers when she
found them converted into what they had opposed. The
spirit of The Great lives after them ; and this weak,
superstitious, " good sort of woman," little thought, when
she uttered with so much enjoyment the slighting allu-
sions to William in her first speech from the throne, that
the legacy of foreign administration left by that high-
minded sovereign would speedily transform the Tories,
then standing by her side, into undeniable earnest Whigs.'
^ The Commons replied to the signally retrieved the ancient honour
address in the same strain, and and glory of the English nation,
congratulated her Majesty on the Very felicitous were the lines of the
wisdom of her councils and the sue- satire :
cess of her arms, by which she had "Pacific Admirals, to save the fleet,
96 TRIUMPH OF THE HIGH-FLYERS. [Daniel
At first all promised well for the most high-flpng
Churclimen. Jacobites came in with proffered oaths of
allegiance ; the " landed interest'' rubbed its hands with
anticipation of discountenance to trade ; tantivy parsons
cried their loudest halloo against Dissent ; the martyr-
dom of Charles became the incessant theme of pulpits,
for comparison of the martyr to the Saviour ; and, by way
of significant hint of the royal sanctity, and the return of
the throne to a more lineal succession, the gift of the royal
touch was solemnly revived. Nor did the feeling explode
in mere talk, or pass without a practical seconding. The
Ministry introduced a bill against Occasional Conformity,
the drift of which was to disqualify Dissenters from all
civil employments ; and though the ministers themselves
were indifferent to it, court bigotry pressed it so hard,
that even the Queen's husband, himself an Occasional
Conformist, was driven to vote for it. '*My heart is vid
" you," he said to Lord Wharton, as he divided against
him. It was a remark, if taken in connexion with the
vote, very chommingly foreign to the purpose.
The bill, passed by the Tory House of Commons
(where Harley had again been chosen Speaker), was
defeated by the Whig lords, to the great comfort of its
authors, the ministry. But the common people, having
begun their revel of High Church excitement, were not
to be balked so easily. They pulled down a few dissent-
ing chapels ; sang High Church songs in the streets ;
insulted known Dissenters as they passed along ; and in
other ways orthodoxly amused themselves. Swift enjoyed
the excitement, and in his laughing way told Stella that so
universal was it, he observed the dogs in the streets to be
much more contumelious and quarrelsome than usual;
and, the very night the bill went up to the Lords, a com-
mittee of Whig and Tory cats had been having a very
warm and loud debate on the roof of his house. But
it seemed to De Foe a Kttle more serious. On personal
grounds he did not care for the bill, its acceptance or its
rejection : but its political tendency was unsafe ; it was
designed as an act of oppression ; the spirit aroused was
Shall fly from conquest, and shall William's cost,
conquest meet. And honour be retrieved before
Commanders shall be praised at 'tis lost ! "
De Foe.'] sacheverell's bloody flag. 97
dangerous ; and the attitude taken by Dissenters wanted
both dignity and courage. Nor let it be supposed, while
he still looked doubtingly on, that he had any personal
reason which would not strongly have withheld him from
the fray. He had now six children ; his affairs were
again thriving; the works at Tilbury had reasonably
prospered ; and passing judgment, by the world's most
favoured tests, on the house to which he had lately re-
moved at Hackney, on the style in which he lived there,
and on the company he kept, it must be said that Daniel
De Foe was at this time most " respectable " and well to
do. He kept his coach and visited county members.*
But, as the popular rage continued, he waived considera-
tions of prudence in his determination to resist it. There
was a foul-mouthed Oxford preacher named Sacheverell,
who had lately announced from his pulpit to that intelli-
gent University, that he could not be a true son of the
Church who did not lift up her banner against the Dis-
senters, who did not hang out the "bloody flag and
" banner of defiance ; " and this sermon was selling for
twopence in the streets. It determined him, as he tells us,
to delay no longer. He would make an effort to stay the
plague. And he wrote and published his Shortest Way
with the Dissenters — without his name, of course.
Its drift was to personate the opinions and style of the
most furious of the high-flying Church party, and to set
forth, with perfect gravity and earnestness, the extreme of
the ferocious intolerance to which their views and wishes
tended. "We can conceive nothing so seasonable, or in
the execution so inimitably real. We doubt if a finer
specimen of serious irony exists in the language. In the
only effective mode, it stole a march on the blind bigotry
of the one party, and on the torpid dulness of the other ;
for, to have spoken to either in a graver tone, would have
called forth a laugh or a stare. Only discovery could
effect prevention. A mine must be sprung, to show the
combustibles in use, and the ruin and disaster they were
fraught with. " 'Tis in vain," said the Shortest Way, " to
^ He makes frequent mention of mansion at Steyning appears to
one of the Sussex members, Sir hare been always at the service of
John Fagg, the hospitality of whose De Foe.
98 SHORTEST WAY WITH DISSENTERS. \_Damel
*' trifle in this matter. We can never enjoy a settled
" uninterrupted union in this nation, till the spirit of
" Whiggism, Faction, and Schism, is melted down like
*' the old money. Here is the opportunity to secure the
" Church and destroy her enemies. I do not prescribe
" fire and faggot, but Delenda est Carthago. They are to
" be rooted out of this nation, if ever we will live in peace
" or serve God. The light foolish handling of them
" by fines is their glory and advantage. If the gallows
" instead of the compter, and the galleys instead of the
" fines, were the reward of going to a conventicle, there
" would not be so many sufferers. The spirit of martyr-
" dom is over. They that will go to church to be chosen
" sheriffs and mayors, would go to forty churches rather
" than be hanged.'*
If a justification of this masterly pamphlet were needed,
would it not be strikingly visible in the existence of a
state of society wherein such arguments as these could be
taken to have grave intention ? Gravely, they tcere so
taken. Sluggish, timid, cowardly Dissenters were struck
with fear ; rabid High Churchmen shouted approval. A
Cambridge Fellow wrote to thank his bookseller for
having sent him so excellent a treatise, it being, next to
the Holy Bible and the Sacred Comments, the most
valuable he had ever seen. But then came a whisper of
its true intention, and the note suddenly changed. There
arose a clamour for discovery and punishment of the
writer, unequalled in its vehemence and intensity. The
very thing that made them eager and exulting to have
the thing said, made them shrink in mortification and
shame from the fact of his saying it. To the lasting dis-
grace of the Dissenters, they joined the cry. They took
revenge for their own dulness. That the writer was De
Foe was now generally known ; and they owed his wit no
favour. It had troubled them too often before the time.
They preferred to wait until Sacheverell's bloody flag
should be hoisted in reality : such a pamphlet, meanwhile,
was a scurrilous irreverence to religion and authority, and
they would have none of it. Yet, bad as were the conse-
quences involved in their desertion of him, he had nothing
more harsh than a smile for their stupidity. " All the
** fault I can find in myself as to these people is, that
De Foe,"] reward offered for the author. 99
" when I had drawn the picture, I did not, like the Dutch-
*' man with his man and bear, write underneath, * This is
'^ * the man, and this is the bear,' lest the people should
" mistake me. Having, in a compliment to their judg-
" ment, shunned so sharp a reflection upon their senses,
" I have left them at liberty to treat me like one that put
" a value upon their penetration at the expense of my
*' own.'* And so indeed they treated him ! A worthy
colonel of the party said, " he'd undertake to be hangman,
" rather than the author of the Shortest Way should want
" a pass out of the world ; " and a self-denying chairman
of one of the foremost dissenters' clubs went to such
alarming lengths with his zeal, as to protest that if he
could find the libeller he would deliver him up without
the reward. For, Government had now offered a reward
of fifty pounds for the apprehension of Daniel De Foe.
There is no doubt that the moderate chiefs were dis-
inclined to so extreme a step : but they were weak at this
time. Lord Nottingham had not yet been displaced;
there was a Tory House of Commons, which not even
Harley's tact could always manage, and by which the
libel had been voted to the hangman; nor had Godol-
phin's reluctance availed against the wish of the Court,
that office should be given to the member most eminent
for opposition to the late King while he lived, and for
insults to his memory. De Foe had little chance ; and
Nottingham, a sincere bigot, took the task of hunting
him down. The proclamation in the London Gazette
described him as " a middle-sized, spare man, about forty
*' years old, of a brown complexion, and dark-brown
'^ coloured hair, but wears a wig ; a hooked nose, a sharp
" chin, grey eyes, and a large mole near his mouth ;
*' owner of the brick and pantile works near Tilbury Fort,
*' in Essex." ' But it was not immediately successful.
^ Here is the exact advertisement: ** but wears a wig ; a hooked nose, a
— "Whereas Daniel De Foe, alias " shnrp chin, grey eyes, and a large
" De Fooe, is charged with writing " mole near his mouth ; was born
" a scandalous and seditious pam- "in London, and for many years
' ' phlet, entitled, The Shortest Way ' ' was a hose-factor, in Freeman's
" with the Dissenters : he is a mid- " Yard in Cornhill, and now is
"die-sized spare man, about forty "owner of the brick and pantile
" years old, of a brown complexion, "works, near Tilbury Fort, in
"and dark-brown coloured hair, "Essex: whoever shall discover
u 2
100 TRIAL AT THE OLD BAILEY. [Daniel
Warrants then threw into custody the printer and the
bookseller ; and De Foe concealed himself no longer. He
came forth, as he says, to brave the storm. He would
not have others ruined by mistake for him.
He stood in the Old Bailey dock in July 1703. Harcourt,
who before had carried up the impeachment of Somers, and
was afterwards counsel for Sacheverell, prosecuted. " A
" man without shame," says Speaker Onslow, " but very
" able." It was his doctrine, that he ought to prosecute
every man who should assert any power in the people to
Oall their governors to account, — taking this to be a right
corollary from the law of libel, then undoubtedly existing,
that no man might publish any piece reflecting on the
government, or even upon the capacity and fitness of any
one employed in it. The Revolution had not altered
that law ; and it was, in effect, the direct source of the
profligate and most prolific personal libels of the age we
are entering on. For, of course, Harcourt's policy was
found impracticable, and retaliation was substituted for
it, — as the denial of all liberty in theory will commonly
produce extreme licentiousness in practice. We do not
know who defended De Foe ; ' but he seems to have been
** the said Daniel De Foe to one of *' was ironically said in that book
*' her Majesty's principal secretaries " was not seriously, as well as with
" of state, or any of her Majesty's " a malicious earnest, published in
*' justices of peace, so as he may be '* print with impunity a hundred
" apprehended, sli^ll have a reward "times before and since? And
" of fifty pounds, which her Ma- " whether, therefore, to say that
*' jesty has ordered immediately to " this was a crime, flies so much in
" be paid upon such discovery." " the face of the churchmen, that
^ Some idea of the speech for the *' it upbraids them with blowing
prosecution is derivable from the *' up their own cause, and ruining
allusions made to it by De Foe him- *' their friends by a method they at
self in after years. Harcourt's posi- " the same time condemn in others,
tion throughout was, that it was an ** Upon this foot, I again say, the
atrocious libel on churchmen to con- *' book was just, its design fair, and
ceive them capable of uttering such " all the facts charged upon them
abominable sentiments. "To hear "very true." Then came the
" of a gentleman," says De Foe, Sacheverell sermon at St. Paul's,
writing during his subsequent ira- transcending all that De Foe had
prisonment, "telling me 7'Ae »SAor<- invented as apposite to such pulpit
" est ^ay was paving the way over agitators ; and thus he commented
** the skulls of churchmen, and it upon it : — "Where were the brains
"is a crime to justify it! That " of wise Sir Simon Harcourt, when,
" should have been said by no man, " according to his custom, bullying
"but him who could first answer "the author then at the bai-, he
* ' this question : Whether ail that ' ' cried, ' Oh, but he would insinu-
2)^ Foe.^ WIT DULY REWARDED. 101
ill defended. He was advised to admit the libel, on a
loose assurance in the court that a high influence was not
indisposed to protect him. He was declared guilty ; and
was sentenced to pay a fine of two hundred marks, to
stand three times in the pillory, to be imprisoned during
the Queen's pleasure, and to find sureties for good beha-
viour for seven years. Alas, for the fate of Wit in this
world ! De Foe was taken back to Newgate, and told to
prepare for the pillory. The high influence whispered
about, made no sign now. But some years after, when
it was her interest to say it, the Queen condescended to
say, that " she left all that matter to a certain person, and
" did not think he would have used Mr. De Foe in such
" manner."
But what was the manner to Mr. De Foe ? He went
to the pillory, as in those after years he went to the
palace, with the same quiet temper. In truth, writers
and thinkers lived nearer to it, then, than we can well
fancy possible now. It had played no ignominious part
in the grand age passed away, Noble hearts had been
tried and tempered iu it. Daily had been elevated in it,
mental independence, manly self-reliance, robust athletic
endurance. All from within that has undying worth, it
*' ate that the Churchmen were for "not heard how eagerly they
*' these barbarous ways with the " granted the suggestion, by es-
" Dissenters,' and therefore it was ** pousing the proposal, and by ac-
*• a mighty crime ! And now, good " knowledging it was the way they
*' Sir Simon, whose honesty and " desired. Now, here is another
*' modesty were born together, — '* test put upon the world of this
• ' you see, sir, the wrong done them ; ' ' true High Church principle. De-
** for this very man, whom you so " struction of Dissenters is proved
*' impudently said was then abused, ** to be no more persecution than
" has doomed them all to the devil " hanging of highwaymen. This is
*'and his angels, declares they " saying in earnest what the author
'* ought to be prosecuted for high *' of The Shortest Way said in jest ;
" treason, and tells us that every " this is owning that to the sun,
*' Dissenter from the Church is a *' which Sir Simon Harcourt said
** Traitor to the State." Again he "before was a crime to suggest,
says, remarking on the same sub- *' Now the blessed days are come
ject : "When Sir Simon Harcourt "that the gi'eat truth is owned
"aggravated it against the author, "barefaced; and the party that
" that he designed the book to have " ruined and abused the author for
**the world believe the Church of "telling the truth out of season,
" England would have the Dissent- " makes no scruple of taking this
" ers thus used, 'tis presumed, " as a proper season to tell the same
" without reflection upon that gen- " truth in their own way."
*' tleman s penetration, that he had
102 STANDING IN THE PILLORY. [Daniel
had, in those times, but the more plainly exposed to public
gaze from without. The only Archbishop that De Foe
ever truly reverenced, Robert Leighton, was the son of
a man who, in it, had been tortured and mutilated ; and
the saintly character of that Prelate was even less saintly
than his father's. A Presbyterian's first thought would
be of these things ; and De Foe's preparation for the
pillory was to fortify his honest dignity by remembrance
of them, in the most nervous and pointed verses he had
ever written.
' Hail, Hieroglyphic State machine,
Contriv'd to punish Fancy in ;
Men that are men, in thee can feel no pain,
And all thy insignificants disdain.
Contempt, that false new word for shame,
Is, without crime, an empty name.
A Shadow to amuse mankind,
But ne'er to fright the wise or well-fix'd mind.
Virtue despises human scorn !
Even the learned Selden saw
A prospect of thee through the law.
He had thy lofty pinnacles in view,
But so much honour never was thy due," &c.
The entire Ode is in truth excellent.
On the 29th of July, 1703, it appeared publicly, in
twenty-four quarto pages, as A Hymn to the Pillory, by
Daniel De Foe ; and on that day, we are informed by the
Lojidon Gazette, Daniel De Foe himself stood in the
pillory before the Royal Exchange in Cornhill ; on the
day following, near the Conduit in Cheapside ; and on
the 31st, at Temple-bar. A large crowd had assembled
to provide themselves sport ; but the pillory they most
enjoyed was not of the Government's erecting. Unex-
pectedly they saw the Law pilloried, and the Ministers
of State,— the dulness which could not comprehend, and
the malice which on that account would punish, a popular
champion. They veered quickly round. Other missiles
than were wont to greet a pillory reached De Foe ; and
shouts of a different temper. His health was drunk'
^ A Tory satirist of the day thus ** All round him Philistines adoring
refers to that circumstance : stand,
De Foe.'\ behaviour of the people. lOeS
with acclamations as lie stood there ; and nothing harder
than a flower was flung at him. "The people were
" expected to treat me very ill," he said ; *' but it was
" not so. On the contrary, they were with me ; wished
" those who had set me there were placed in my room ;
" and expressed their afi'ections by loud shouts and accla-
" mations when I was taken down." We are told that
garlands covered the platform where he stood ; that he
saw the Hymn passed from hand to hand ; and that,
what it so calmly had said, he heard far less calmly
repeated from angry groups that stood below.
" Tell them the men that placed him here
Are scandals to the times ;
Are at a loss to find his guilt, •
And can't commit his crimes."
A witness who was present, in short, and an undeniably
good one, being himself a noted Tory libeller of the day
(Ned Ward), frankly admits this " lofty Hymn to the
" wooden rufi"" to have been "to the law a counter-cuff;
" and truly, without Whiggish flattery, a plain assault
" and downright battery." Had not De Foe established
his right, then, to stand there "Unabashed?" Un-
abashed by, and unabated in his contempt for. Tyranny
and Dulness, was he not now entitled to return fearless
— not "earless," 0 readers of the Danciad!^ — to his
appointed home in Newgate ?
And keep their Dagon safe from been not a little of the mere fine
Israel's hand. gentleman in the attack. De Foe
They, dirt themselves, protected him was not in "the circles," and did
from filth, not write always according to the
And for the faction's money drank " rules," and it was to be under-
his health." stood that the fashionable poet kept
,,,T,i 1-ij.j vm no such unfinished company. Even
1 " Earless on hieh stood unabashd ,, , , ,. j "^ r t
P^ -p, ° the paternal hnen-drapery of Lom-
A J m X 1 '• x\ i. r i.u bard Street may have rendered him
And Tutchm flagrant from the ., .,i. '' . u i *. i- ..u
, , °„ the more willing to back out of the
scourge below. hosierly neighbourhood of Cornhill.
A most ungenerous attack, and It is, however, likewise to be added
very wantonly made. It is possible, that Pope, notwithstanding the real
indeed, that in addition to his grudge liberality of his religious opinions,
against the assailant of Swift, Pope if not by very reason of it, could
may have resented De Foe's attack hardly have liked the bitterness of
on Harcourt, the attorney-general, De Foe's attacks ou his kinsfolk the
who was an intimate friend of his ; Catholics.
but I am afraid there must also have
l04 IMPRISONMENT IN NEWGATE. [^Daniel
A home of no unwise experience to the wise ohserver.
A scene of no unromantic aspect to the minute and careful
painter. It is a common reproach to the memory of
WilHam of Orange, that literature and art found no
encouragement in him ; hut let us rememher that Daniel
De Foe and David Teniers acknowledged him for their
warmest friend. There is higher art, and higher litera-
ture ; hut, within the field selected by both, there is none
more exact and true. The war of politics, however, has
not yet released our English Teniers. He has not leisure
yet for the more peaceful "art of roguery." It is to
come with the decline of life ; when that which mainly
he had struggled for was won, and the prize had passed
to others.
In the "Writings he now rapidly sent forth from New-
gate, we think we see something of what we may call the
impatient restlessness of martyrdom. He is more eager,
than was perhaps desirable, to proclaim what he has
done, and what he will do. We can fancy, if we may
so express it, a sort of reasonable dislike somewhat un-
reasonably conceived against him now, by the young men
of letters and incipient wits, the Mr. Popes and the
gentlemen at Will's, with whom the world was going
easily. His utmost address might seem to have some
offence in it; his utmost liberality to contain some
bigotry ; his best offices to society to be rendered of
doubtful origin, by what would appear a sort of ever-
lasting pragmaticalness and delight in finding fault. It
is natural, all this. We trample upon a man, plunder
him, imprison him, strive to make him infamous, and
then we wonder if he is only the more hardened in his
persuasion that he has a much better case than ourselves.
One of the pirate printers of the day took advantage of
the imprisoned writer's popularity to issue the Works of
the Author of the True-horn Englishman ; and thought
himself grossly ill-used, because the Author retorted with
a charge of theft, and a True Collection corrected hy
Himself The very portrait he had affixed to this latter
book constituted a new offence. Here was a large, de-
termined, resolute face ; and here was a lordly, full-
bottomed wig surmounting it, — flowing lower than the
elbow, and rising higher than the forehead, in amazing
De Foe.'\ hard literary labour. 105
amplitude of curl. Here was riclily-laced cravat ; fine,
loose, flowing cloak ; and surly, substantial, citizen aspect.
He was proud of this portrait, by the way, and complains
of that of the pirate volume as no more like himself than
Sir Roger L'Estrange was like the dog Touzer. But, was
this the look of a languishing prisoner ? Was this an
image of the tyranny complained of ? Neither Tutchin
of the Ohservator, nor Leslie of the Rehearsal, could bring
himself to think it. So they found some rest from the
assailing of each other, in common and prolonged assaults
upon De Foe.
He did not spare them in return. He wrote satires ;
he wrote polemics ; he wrote politics ; he discussed occa-
sional conformity with Dissenters, and the grounds of
popular right with Highfliers ; he wrote a famous account
of the Great Storm ; he took part in the boldest questions
of Scotch and Irish policy; he canvassed with daring
freedom the measures of the Court, on whose pleasure the
opening of his prison doors depended ; he argued with
admirable force and wit against a proposed revival of the
Censorship of the Press ; he put the claims of authors to
be protected in their Copyright with irresistible force ; '
^ At this time, though the author ** hackney abridgers fill the world,
possessed, by the common law, a " the first with spurio\is and incor-
perpetual right to his copy, the law " rect copies, and the latter with
provided him with no means of en- '* imperfect and absurd representa-
forcing his right, but left every body *' tions, both in fact, style, and
to rob and plunder him as they ** design.
pleased. De Foe tells us in forcible *''Tis in vain to exclaim at the
language, and with a striking illus- *' villainy of these practices, while
tration from his own case, how this " no law is left to punish them.
" liberty of the press" worked. ** The press groans under the un-
" The scandalous liberty of the *' happy burthen, and yet is in a
" press, which no man more tlian " strait between two mischiefs.
" myself covets to see rectified, is *' 1. The tyranny of a licenser.
*' such that all manner of property ** This in all ages has been a method
" seems prosti'ated to the avarice of "so ill, so arbitrary, and so sub-
*' some people ; and if it goes on, . Ejected to bribery and parties, that
" even reading itself will in time " the Government has thought fit,
*' grow intolerable. " in justice to the learned part of
" No author is now capable of ** the world, not to suffer it ; since
" preserving the purity of his style, ** it has always been shutting up the
" no, nor the native product of his " press to one side and opening it
" thoughts to fiosterity ; since, after "to the other; which, as affairs
" the first edition of his work has " are in England often changing,
*' shown itself, and perhaps sinks in ** has, in its turn, been oppressive to
" a few hands, piratic printers or " both.
106
THOU SHALT NOT STEAL.
[Daniel
and finally (on tlie 19tli February, 1704) he set up Ms
Review.
Its plan was curious, and, at that time, new to English,
literature. It was at first a quarto sheet, somewhat
widely printed, published weekly, and sold for a penny.
" 2. The unbridled liberty of in-
vading each other's property ; and
this is the evil the press now cries
for help in.
*' To let it go on thus, will in
time discourage all manner of
learning ; and authors will never
set heartily about anything, when
twenty years' study shall immedi-
ately be sacrificed to the profit of
a piratical printer, who not only
ruins the author, but abuses the
work.
" I shall trouble myself only to
give some instances of this in my
own case.
"1, As to abusing the copy, the
True-horn Englishman is a re-
markable example, by which the
author, though in it he eyed no
profit, liad he been to enjoy the
profit of his own labour, had
gained abou^ 1 OOOZ ; a book that,
besides nine editions of the au-
thor, has been twelve times printed
by other hands ; some of which
have been sold for Id, others "Id,
and others 6^, while the author's
edition being fairly printed, and
on good paper, and could not be
sold under a shilling. Eighty
thousand of the small ones have
been sold in the streets for 2d ot
at Id ; and the author, thus
abused and discouraged, had no
remedy but patience.
* ' And yet he had received no
mortification at this, had his copy
been transmitted fairly to the
world ; but the monstrous abuses
of that kind are hardly credible.
Twenty, fifty, in some places
sixty lines, left out in a place ;
others turned, spoiled, and so
intolerably mangled, that the
parent of the brat could not know
■ his own child. This is the thing
" complained of, and which I wait
" with patience, and not without
" hopes, to see rectified."
To this he adds other illustrations
of a similar kind, and then re-
marks :
" It may be inquired here how
' will you find a remedy for this
' mischief? How will you have
' the drones that work none, but
' devour the labour and industry of
' the bees, kept out of the hive ?
" It is an unhappiness that, in
' answering this point, there is not
' difficulty enough either to excuse
* the Government in letting it lie so
' long neglected, or to procure me
' any reasonable applause for the
' contrivance.
' ' The road is as plain as the table
' of multiplication, and that a con-
* junction of parts makes an addition
' of quantity. Two short clauses
' would heal all these evils, would
' prevent seditious pamphlets, 1am-
' poons, and invectives against the
* Government, or at least prevent
' their going unpunished, and pre-
' serve to every man the fruit of his
' own labour and industry.
'' First. That every author set
' his name to what he writes, and
' that every printer or publisher
' that pi-ints or publishes a book
* without it, shall be deemed the
' author, and answerable for the
' contents.
" Secondly. That no man shall
* print another man s copy ; or, in
' English, that no printer or book-
' seller shall rob another man's
' house ; for it really is no better,
' nor is it any slander, notwith-
' standing the aforesaid pretence,
* to call it by that title."
Whether or not De Foe's plan
would have proved effective, needs
De Foe.'] the review started. 107
After the fourtli number, it was reduced to half-a-sheet,
and sold for twopence, in smaller print and with double
columns. After the eighth number, it was published
twice a week, on Tuesdays and Saturdays. Before the
close of the first volume, it sent forth monthly supple-
ments. And at last it appeared on the Tuesday, Thurs-
day, and Saturday of every week ; and so continued,
without intermission, and written solely by De Foe, for
nine years. He wrote it in prison and out of prison ;
in sickness and in health. It did not cease when cir-
cumstances called him from England. No official
employment determined it ; no politic consideration availed
to discontinue it ; no personal hostility, or party censure,
weighed with him in the balance against it. "As to
" censure," he exclaimed, " the writer expects it. He
" writes to serve the world, not to please it. A few wise,
" calm, disinterested men, he always had the good hap
" to please and satisfy. By their judgment he desires
" still to be determined ; and, if he has any pride, it is that
" he may be approved by such. To the rest, he sedately
" says, their censure deserves no notice." So, through all
the vicissitudes of men and ministries, from 1704 to 1713,
amid all the contentions and shouts of party, he kept with
this homely weapon his single-handed way, a solitary
watchman at the portals of the commonwealth. Remark-
able for its rich and various knowledge, its humour, its
satire, its downright hearty earnestness, it is a yet more
surprising monument of inexhaustible activity and energy.
It seems to have been suggested to him, in the first
instance, as a resource against the uncertainties of his
not now be discussed. Suffice it to to a book very lately published by
observe, that it never occurred to Mr. Charles Reade, the ^V(7 A/A Co 7ri-
him to provide a remedy by limiting mandment. Everyone who has at
the author's right to the fraction of heart the interests of Literature and
time afterwards conceded to him ; its professors, or who desires to help
though he was fain to accept even in removing a national reproach and
that concession, wrung forth mainly discredit, should read a book which
by his own remonstrances, as an in both respects does noble service,
improvement on the existing system. It is full of thoughts as wise and
[If the reader wishes to pursue just as they are generous, though
the subject of this note (which I not perhaps always uttered in the
may be excused for saying that I wisest way ; but even the faults of
have also largely illustrated in my the book are those of a large-minded
Life of Goldsmith), let me refer him and large-hearted man. 18(iU.]
108 A NOVELTY IN PAMPHLETEERING. \_Daniel
imprisonment, and ttie disastrous effects on his trade
speculations (he had lost by his late prosecution more
than 4000/) ; and there is no doubt it assisted him in the
support of his family for several of these years. But he had
no efficient protection against the continued piracy of it.
The thieves counted it by thousands, when worthy Mr.
Matthews the publisher could only render account for hun-
dreds ; and hence the main and most substantial profit its
writer derived from all the anxiety and toil it cost him,
was expressed in the proud declaration of one of its latest
lumbers. "I have here espoused an honest interest,
" and have steadily adhered to it all my days. I never
" forsook it when it was oppressed ; never made a gain
" by it when it was advanced ; and, I thank God, it is
" not in the power of all the Courts and Parties in
" Christendom to bid a price high enough to buy me off
" from it, or make me desert it."
The arrangement of its plan was not less original than
that of its form. The path it struck out in periodical
literature was, in this respect, entirely novel. It classed
the lesser and the larger morals ; it mingled personal and
public themes ; it put the gravities of life in an enter-
taining form ; and at once it discussed the politics, and
corrected the vices, of the age. We may best indicate the
manner in which this was done, by naming rapidly the
subjects treated in the first volume, in addition to those
of political concern. It condemned the fashionable prac-
tice of immoderate drinking ; in various ways it ridiculed
the not less fashionable habit of swearing ; it inveighed
against the laxity of marital ties ; it exposed the licentious-
ness of the stage ; it discussed, with great clearness and
sound knowledge, questions affecting trade and the poor;
it laughed at the rage for gambling speculations; and it
waged inveterate war with that barbarous practice of the
duel, in which De Foe had to confess, with shame, that he
had once during his life been engaged. Its machinery for
matters non-political was a so-called Scandalous Club, or-
ganised to hear complaints, and entrusted with the power
of deciding them. We will show how it acted. A gen-
tleman appears before the Club, and complains of his
wife. She is a bad wife ; he cannot exactly tell why.
There is a long examination, proving nothing; when
De Foe.'] the tatler anticipated. 109
suddenly a member of the Club begs pardon for the ques-
tion, and asks if his worship was a good husband. His
worship, greatly surprised at such a question, is again at
a loss to answer. Whereupon the Club pass three reso-
lutions. 1. That most women that are bad wives are
made so by bad husbands. 2. That this society will
hear no complaints against a virtuous bad wife from a
vicious good husband. 3. That he that has a bad wife,
and can't find the reason of it in her, ^tis ten to one
that he finds it in himself. And the decision finally is,
that the gentleman is to go home, and be a good husband
for at least three months ; after which, if his wife is still
uncured, they will proceed against her as they shall find
cause. In this way, pleas and defences are heard on the
various points that present themselves in the subjects
named ; and not seldom with a lively dramatic interest.
The graver arguments and essays, too, have an easy
homely vigour, a lightness and pleasantry of tone, very
diff'erent from the ponderous handling peculiar to the
Eidpaths and the Dyers, the Tutchins and the Leslies.
We open at an essay on Trade, which would delight Mr.
Cobden himself. De Foe is arguing against impolitic
restrictions. We think to plague the foreigner, he says;
and in reality we but deprive ourselves. "If you vex
" me, I'll eat no dinner, said I, when I was a little boy :
" till my mother taught me to be wiser by letting me
" stay till I was hungry."
The reader will remember the time when this Review
was planned. Ensign Steele was yet but a lounger in
the lobbies of the theatres, and Addison had not emerged
from his garret in the Haymarket. The details of common
life had not yet been invested with the graces of litera-
ture, the social and polite moralities were still disregarded
in the press, the world knew not the influence of my
Lady Betty Modish, and Colonel Ranter still swore at
the waiters. Where, then, shall we look for " the first
" sprightly runnings " of Tatlers and Spectators, if we
have not found them in De Foe's Revieic ? The earlier
was indeed the ruder workman : but wit, originality, and
knowledge were not less the tools he worked with ; and
the latter "two-penny authors," as Mr. Dennis is pleased
to caU them, found the way well struck out for their
110 CHANGES IN THE GOVERNMENT. \_Daniel
finer and more delicate art. What had been done for
the citizen classes, they were to do for the beauties and
the wits. They had watched the experiment, and seen
its success. The Review was enormously popular. It
was stolen, pirated, hawked about everywhere ; and the
writer, with few of the advantages, paid all the penalties
of success. He complains that his name was made " the
" hackney title of the times." Hardly a penny or two-
penny pamphlet was afterwards cried in the streets, or a
broadside put forth appealing to the people, to which the
scurrilous libeller, or witless dunce, had not forged that
popular name. Nor was it without its influence on the
course of events which now gradually changed the aspect
and the policy of Godolphin's government. De Foe has
claimed for himself large share in preparing a way for
what were called the "modern Whigs;" and the claim
was undoubtedly well founded.
IS^ottingham and Rochester had resigned; and the
great House of Commons tactician was now a member of
the government. The seals of the Home and War
offices had been given to Harley and his friend Henry
St. John. The Lord-Treasurer could not yet cross boldly
to the Whigs, and he would not creep back to the Tories;
but to join with Robert Harley was to do neither of these
things. This famous person appears to us to have been
the nearest representative of what we might call the
practical spirit of the Eevolution, of any who lived in
that age. In one of his casual sayings, reported by
Pope, we seem to find a clue to his character. Some one
had observed of a measure proposed, that the people
would never bear it : " None of us," replied Harley,
" know how far the good people of England will bear."
All his life he was engaged in attempts upon that problem.
If he had thought less of the good people of England, he
would have been a less able, a more daring, and certainly
a more successful statesman. We do not think he was a
Trimmer, in the ordinary sense of the word. When he
went to church, and sent his family to the meeting-house,
— when, upon asking a clergyman to his Sunday table,
he was careful to provide a clergyman " of another sort "
to meet him, — we should try to find a better word for it,
if we would not find a worse for the Revolution. The
De Foe.~\ character of harley. Ill
Revolution trimined between two parties ; and the Revo-
lution, to this day, is but the grand unsolved experiment
of how much the people of England will bear. To call
Harley a mere court intriguer, is as preposterous as to
call him a statesman of commanding genius. He had
less of mere courtliness than any of his colleagues. The
fashionable French dancing-master who wondered what
the devil the Queen should have seen in him to make
him an Earl and Lord-Treasurer, for he had attended
him two years, and never taught such a dunce, — gives
us a lively notion of his homely, bourgeois manners.
Petticoat politics are to be charged against him ; but, to
no one who thoroughly knew the Queen can it be
matter of severe reproach, that he was at the pains to
place Abigail Hill about her person. He knew the
impending doTvnifall of Marlborough's too imperious wife;
and was he to let slip a power so plainly within his grasp,
and see it turned against him? His success in the Bed-
chamber never shook his superior faith in the agencies of
Parliament and the Press. These two were the levers
of the Revolution ; and they are memorably associated
with the Government of Robert Harley.
As soon as he joined Godolphin, he seems to have
turned his thoughts to De Foe. He was not, indeed,
the first who had done so. More than one attempt had
been already made to capitulate with that potent prisoner.
Two lords had gone to him in Newgate ! exclaims Old-
mixon ; in amaze that one lord should find his way to such
a place. He says the same thing himself, in the witty nar-
rative at the close of the Consolidator. But these lords
carried conditions with them ; and there is a letter in the
British Museum (Addit. MS. 7421), wherein DeFoe writes
to Lord Halifax, that he '' scorned to come out of JN'ewgate
*• at 'the price of betraying a dead master.'' Harley
made no conditions, for that was not his way : he sent to
Mr. De Foe because he was a man of letters, and in
distress. His message was " by word of mouth ; " and to
this effect — " Pray, ask Mr. De Foe what I can do for
" him." Nor was the reply less characteristic. The
prisoner took a piece of paper, and wrote the parable of
the blind man in the Gospel. *' I am blind, and yet ask
" me what thou shalt do for me ! My answer is plain in
112 RELEASE FROM NEWGATE. [Datliel
" my misery. Lord, that I may receive my sight ! "
What else could such a man wish for but his liberty ?
Yet four months passed before a further communication
reached him. It seemed to imply reluctance in a higher
quarter. Within four months, however, " her Majesty
" was pleased particularly to inquire into my circum-
" stances, and by my Lord-Treasurer Godolphin to send
" a considerable supply to my wife and family ; and to
" send to me the prison-money, to pay my fine and the
*' expenses of my discharge."
He was released in August 1704. His health had then
become shattered by his long confinement. He took a
house at Bury in Suffolk, and lived there a little while
retired. But his pen did not rest ; nor could he retire
from the notoriety that followed him, or from other pen-
alties of that public service which he still continued
fearlessly to discharge. Luttrell records in his Diary
(under date of the 26th Sept. 1704) that " it's said,
" Daniel De Foe is ordered to be taken into custody for
" reflecting on Admiral Rooke, in his Master Mercury,
" whereby he has forfeited his recognisance for his good
** behaviour." His name also, to papers he had not
written, continued to be hawked about the London
streets ; and it was reported, and had to be formally
denied, that he had escaped from Newgate by a trick.
Then came the exciting news that Blenheim was won,
France humbled, Europe saved ; and De Foe, in a Hymn
to Victory, verses of no great merit, but which cost him
only " three hours *' to compose, gave public utterance to
his joy.' Then, the dry unlettered Lord-Treasurer went
in search of the most graceful wit among the Whigs, to
get advice as to some regular poet who might properly
^ Among the extremely few letters ** wonderful times" they are living
of De Foe that have survived, out in, refers to his poem on The Vic-
of the not very many he is likely tory, and mentions some fifty books
to have written (he was too busy a that had been forwarded. He makes
man for a voluminous letter-writer), allusion also, in the later note, to
I have seen two brief notes of which his Jure Divino, to the circulation
one belongs to this date, and one of the i^eriVu', and to the un warrant-
to a year later, addressed to a Mr. able advertisement for his arrest
Elisha. To this correspondent, who {ante, p. 99), of which his numer-
■was probably one of the agents em- ous enemies were still making pro-
ployed by him in the sale or circu la- fitable use as a battery of assault
tion of his writings, he speaks of the against him.
De Foe.'\ letters to lord Halifax. 113
celebrate the Captain- General. Then HaKfax brought
down Addison from his garret ; the Campaign was ex-
changed for a comfortable Government salary ; and
communications were at the same time opened again,
upon the same suggestion, with De Foe. Two letters of
this date, from himself to Halifax, have escaped his
biographers. In the first, he is grateful for that lord's
unexpected goodness, in mentioning him to my Lord-
Treasurer ; but would be well-pleased to wait till Halifax
is himself in power. He speaks of a Government com-
munication concerning " paper credit," which he is then
handling in his Review. He regrets that some proposal
his lordship had sent, "exceeding pleasant for me to
" perform, as well as useful to be done," had been so
blundered by the messenger that he could not under-
stand it ; and from this we get a glimpse of a person
hitherto unnamed in his history, — a brother, a stupid
fellow. In the second letter he acknowledges the praise
and favours of Lord Halifax : and thus manfully declares
the principle on which his own services are offered. " If
" to be encouraged in giving myself up to that service
" your lordship is pleased so much to overvalue ; if going
*' on with the more cheerfulness in being useful to, and
" promoting, the general peace and interest of this nation;
" if to the last vigorously opposing a stupid, distracted
*' party, that are for ruining themselves rather than not
" destroy their neighbours ; if this be to merit so much
*' regard, your lordship binds me in the most durable, and
" to me the most pleasant engagement in the world,
" because 'tis a service that, with my gratitude to your
" lordship, keeps an exact unison with my reason, my
" principle, my inclinations, and the duty every man
" owes to his country, and his posterity."
Harley was at this time in daily communication with
Halifax, and very probably saw these letters ; but he was
a man who managed all things warily, and who, even in
dealing with the press, knew the value of the delicacies.
He had not appeared in De Foe's affairs since he effected
his release : and that release he threw upon the Queen.
In the same temper he sent to him now. The Queen, he
said, had need of his assistance ; but he offered him no
employment to fetter future engagements. He knew that
114 INTERCOURSE WITH HARLEY. [^Daniel
in tlie last of his publications (tlie Consolidator, a prose
satire, remarkable for tlie hints it threw out to Gulliver) ,
De Foe had laughed at Addison' for refusing to write the
Campaign " till he had 200/. a year secured to him ; " —
an allusion never forgiven. Harley was content, there-
fore, simply to send for him to London ; to tell him the
Queen *' had the goodness to think of taking him into
" her service ; " and to do what the Whigs were vainly
endeavouring to do for the Irish Priest who had written
the most masterly satire since the days of Eabelais. He
took him to Court to kiss hands. "We see in all this but
the truth of the character we would assign to this so
variously estimated statesman. On grounds independent
of either party, except so far as " reason, principle, in-
" clinations, and duty to his country " should prompt, the
powerful, homely, and popular writer had thus quietly
and surely been enlisted in the service of the Govern-
ment of the Revolution. Compared with Harley, we
cannot but think the old Whigs, with every honest in-
clination, little better than bunglers in matters of the
kind. It is true that not even Harley could carry the
Yicar of Laracor to the palace ; but he might show that
he understood why Swift wished to be there, and might
conciliate that weakness in his character. He could carry
him in his coach to country ale-houses ; he could play
games of counting poultry on the road, or " who should
" first see a cat or an old woman ; " he could loll back
on his seat with a broad Temple jest ; or he could caU
and be called " Jonathan " and " Harley ; " — and the
old Whigs were much too chary of these things. So
they had lost Prior, and were losing Parnell and Swift ;
and he who had compared Lord Somers to Aristides, was
soon to talk of him as little better than a rascal.
We next see De Foe in the house of Mr. Secretary
Harley. He has been named to execute a secret com-
mission in the public service, which requires a brief
absence on the Continent. He is making preparations
for his departure ; is proposing to travel as *' Mr. Chris-
^ In his verses of Do«&Ze TTeZcowie " Mecaenas has his modem fancy-
to the Duke of Marlborough he has strung —
also a sarcastic allusion to Addison, You fix'd his pension first, or he had
when he speaks of the way in which never sung."
De Foe.~\ electioneering. 115
" topher Hurt ; *' is giving Harley advice for a large
scheme of secret intelligence ; and is discussing with him
a proposed poetical satire (afterwards published as the
Diet of Polandy against the High Church faction. In a
subsequent farewell letter he adverts to these things ;
and, after naming some matters of public feeling in
which one of the minister's Tory associates was awk-
wardly involved, characteristically closes with an opinion,
that it was needful Harley should know in this, as well
as anything else, what the people say.
The foreign service was one of danger. '^ I ran as much
" danger of my life," he said, " as a grenadier upon the
" counterscarp." But it was discharged successfully; and,
in consideration of the risk, the Government offered him
what seems to have been a small sinecure. He took it as
a debt ; and at a later period, when opposed to the reign-
ing Ministry, complains that large arrears were then
unpaid. On his return he had found the Tory House of
Commons dissolved, and the new elections in progress.
He threw himself into the contest with characteristic
ardour. He wrote; he canvassed; he voted; he jour-
neyed throughout the country on horseback, he tells us,
more than eleven hundred miles ; and, in addresses to elec-
tors everywhere, still he counselled the necessity of laying
aside party prejudices, of burying former animosities,
and of meeting their once Tory ministers at least half-
way. He found many arguments on his road, he adds.
He found people of all opinions, as well Churchmen as
Dissenters, living in Christian neighbourhood ; and he
^ There are excellent lines in this Are always cheated, oftentimes un-
Diet of Poland, of which a great part done,
satirizes, under cover of the factions Besieged with flattery, false report,
against Sobieski, the character of the and lies,
party intrigues against William III. And soothed with schemes of vast
One might expect to meet in the absurdities.
Satires of Churchill such a passage as The jangling statesmen clash in their
I here subjoin :
Fraud fights with fraud, and craft
"Statesmen are gamesters, sharp to craft inclines ;
and trick's the play. Stiffly engage, quarrel, accuse, and
Kings are but cullies, wheedled in to hate,
pay ; And strive for leave to help undo
The Courtiers footballs, kick'd from the State."
one to one,
116 PENALTIES OF POPULARITY. \_Daniel
had very often the honour, " with small difficulty, of con-
" vincing gentlemen over a bottle of wine, that the author
" of the Review was really no monster, but a conversable,
" social creature/* His Essays, meanwhile, written in
the progress of this journeying, were admirable ; and
with every paper that he wrote, to use his own language.
Rehearsals raved, Ohservators bullied, and High Church
not only voted him to the Devil but exhibited him in
that companionship. I possess a curious tract entitled,
*' Daniel De Foe and the Devil at Leapfrog, Being a
" Dialogue which passed between them as they were
" recreating themselves at that Sport in an eminent
*' Tavern in Cheapside,'' ^ which for the character and
degree of its abuse is perfectly astounding ; but which
yet is valuable for the evidence it unconsciously bears to
the extraordinary popularity of his Reviews. They were
read in every cofi'ee-house and club ; often they were
stolen from these houses by Highfliers, that they might
not be read ; they were quoted on every popular hustings ;
the Duchess of Marlborough sent them over to the camp
in Flanders ; * and the writer, on peril of his life, was
warned to discontinue them. His tributes of this latter
kind were numerous. He had to change his publisher,
Mr. Matthews, a set of high churchmen having conspired
to clap him into prison ; his printer was threatened ; his
own house was marked to be pulled down ; he was beset
and dogged by adversaries armed for personal violence.
^ It is adorned by a large -wood- did) by taking the Devil, from his
cut representing De Foe, bis hat and domineering, to be a "High Church-
ample wig on the ground, "making " man or a Player."
"aback" in the centre, with the ^ Acknowledging one in which he
Devil preparing to leap on one is himself gallantly vindicated, the
side, and on the other a highly Duke writes to the Duchess, " I do
dressed lively gentleman looking " not know who the author of the
on, whom we discover to be Pin- " Eevieivis, but I do not like to see
kethman the actor. " Make a fair " my name in print ; for I am per-
" back, David," cries the Devil. " suaded that an honest man must
*'I do, don't I, Pinkethman?" " be justified by his own actions,
says De Foe. "No, you cheating "and not by the pen of a writer,
" Dog," replies Pinkethman, "you "though he should be a zealous
"don't!" The epithets hurled at "friend." To which I will venture
De Foe, in the course of the dia- to reprint the brief comment which
logue, might do credit to even a I find affixed to this passage in my
Devil's vocabulary ; while De Foe in copy of Wilson's De Foe. — Non-
return seems to tliink he hits hard sense ; he was afraid he would have
enough (which in all probability he to pay something.
T)e Foe.'\ a true englishman. 117
Highflying Justices followed him about the country with
false warrants of arrest; sham actions were brought
against him in shoals; compounded debts of long past
years were revived ; his life was threatened by bullying
letters, his morals were assaulted by impotent and
groundless slanders, his principles were misrepresented
alike by professing friends and malicious enemies, and
only his own unequalled and irresistible energy could
have stayed the completion of his ruin. But no jot of
heart or hope was abated in him. " Take him with all
'' his failings," says no friendly critic, " it must be ac-
" knowledged that he is a man of good parts, and very
" clear sense. He is master of the English tongue, and
" can say what he pleases upon any subject. With all
" my revenge, I cannot but own his thoughts are always
" surprising, new, and singular : and though he writes
"for bread, he could never be hired to wrong his con-
" science or disgrace the quill : and, which crowns his
" panegyric, he is a person of true courage. He is not
" daunted with multitudes of enemies ; for he faces as
" many every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, as
'^ there are foes to moderation and peace. He Hevietcs
"■ without fear, and acts without fainting. To do him
" justice, he has piety enough for an author, and courage
" enough for a martyr. And in a word, if any, Daniel
** De Foe is a True Englishman." It was an honest
opponent of his, eccentric old John Dunton, who said
that, and honoured himself by saying it.
The elections confirmed the power of the Whigs. The
Duke of Buckingham and Sir Nathan Wright retired to
make way for the Duke of Newcastle and Lord Cowper ;
and a renegade Whig and former Dissenter, Lord Haver-
sham, led the first attack upon the ministers. De Foe
was dragged forward by this lord as the *'mean and
" mercenary prostitute of the Bevietv ;'* as making his
fortune by the way of " scribbling ;" and as receiving
both " encouragement and instructions " from Godolphin.
There was a quiet dignity and eloquence in his answer.
He reminds the turncoat peer that Fate, which makes
footballs of men, kicks some men up stairs and some
down ; that some are advanced without honour, others
suppressed without infamy ; that some are raised without
118 WRITING FOR BREAD DEFENDED. [^Daniel
merit, some crushed without crime ; and that no man
knows, by the beginning of things, whether his course
shall issue in a peerage or a pillory. To the charge of
writing for bread, he asks what are all the employments
in the world pursued for, but for bread ? The lawyer
" pleads, the soldier fights, the musician fiddles, the
" players act, and, no reflection on the tribe, the clergy
" preach, for bread." ^ For the rest he reminds him that
he had never betrayed his master (William had given
Lord Haversham his peerage), nor his friend ; that he
had always espoused the cause of truth and liberty ; that
he had lived to be ruined for it ; that he had lived to see
it triumph over tyranny, party rage, and persecution
principles ; that he thanked God this world had not a
price to give, sufficient to bribe him from it ; and that he
ivas sorry to see any man abandon it.
Besides the Review, he had published, in the current
year, works on Trade ; on the conduct and management
of the Poor ; on Toleration ; and on colonial Intolerance
in North America. It would be difficult to name a more
soundly reasoned or shrewdly written pamphlet than his
Giving Alms no Charity. Yet he knew what then he had
to contend with, in dealing with a subject so imperfectly
understood. His judgment may differ from that of
others in giving some needful hints as to the state of
our poor, he says, but he must be plain. " While he
*' is no enemy to charity-hospitals and workhouses, he
" thinks that methods to keep our poor out of them far
" exceed, both in prudence and charity, all the settlements
" and endeavours in the world to maintain them there."
Especially did he claim to be heard on that subject, he
^ It is a remarkable fact, neverthe- promoting public morals and the
less, that, for a great part of the time public service. " I defy the whole
during which he was carrying on the " world to prove," he said at this
Review, De Foe derived no personal particular time, " that I have
profit from it. Such income as ac- "directly or indirectly gained or
crued to him was drawn still from the " received a single shilling, or the
remains of his mercantile specula- ' ' value of it, by the sale of this
tions ; and he continued the labours " paper, for now almost four years ;
and sacrifices which the Review *' and honest Mr, Morphew is able
involved, *' amassing infinite ene- " to detect me if I speak false."
**mies,"ashe remarks, "and not Mr. Morphew had succeeded Mr.
"at all obliging even the men I Matthews as its publisher,
"serve," for the sole reward of
De Foe."] "jure diyino." 119
added, as an English freeholder. His town tenements
had been taken from him, the Tilbury works were gone,
and the Freeman's-yard house was his no longer, — but
he still possessed one English freehold. He does not tell
us in what county (towards the close of his life he was in
possession of a small freehold in Essex) ; but he had
moved his family to Newington, and it may have been
in some way connected with that scene of his boyhood.
To this date, also, belong several pamphlets on Dissenters'
questions ; his attempted enforcement of a better scheme
for the Regulation of Madhouses, and for humanity to
their inmates ; and his Jure Divino. In the latter, the
reasoning is better than the poetry ; but it has vigorous
verses in it, and its rude strong lines passed current
Tsith great masses of the people. It appeared with a large
subscription,* and such was the certainty that its author
would be worth plundering, that the whole satire was im-
pudently pirated on the very day of its pubKcation. Now,
too, there went to him that worthy and much distressed
bookseller, who had published a large edition of a very
dull and heavy book, called Drelincourt on Death, " with
several directions how to prepare ourselves to die well ;"
which the public, not appearing to relish unauthorised
1 As to which, let me add, De ' ' taine Book called Jure Divine, a
Foe's ruthless and inveterate anta- " Satyr on Passive Obedience, &c,
gonists took advantage of a brief and " and now for that he has got the
not unusual delay in its publication " money, does not publish the said
(it was for but a few months) to charge "Book, according to his promise,
him with an intention to cheat his " and according as to the Honour
subscribers. I possess a pamphlet, " of a Poet he Ought." It is need-
which a manuscript memorandum on less to add that the "Tryal, Ex-
the title, in the handwriting of the " amination, and Condemnation,"
time, shows to have been issued on are conducted in a style of reckless
the 2nd October, 1705 ; and simply scurrility in every respect worthy
to quote that title will show the of this title. Certainly De Foe was
violence and recklessness of the ene- the best abused man even of that
mies whom his hard hitting had abusive time. The bi-weekly paper
provoked. " The Proceedings at called the Rehearsal, now before
" the Tryal, Examination, and Con- me, seems to have existed for no
" demnation, of a certain Scribling, other purpose than to assail him;
** Rhyming, Versifying, Poeteeriug and this it did unsparingly twice every
"Hosier and True Born English- week, through a series of years now
"man, commonly known by the represented by four reasonably sized
" name of Daniel the prophet, folio volumes, to which his name
" alias Anglipoliski, alias Foeski, (under vai'ious forms of attack and
" alias your humble sei-vant De F, abuse) imparts the solitary interest
" for taking subscriptions to a cer- they continue to possess*
120
HOW TO SELL A DULL BOOK. {Daniel
directions of that nature, liad stubbornly refused to
buy. What was to be done with the ponderous stock
under which his shelves were groaning ? De Foe quieted
his fears. Nothing but a ghost from the grave, it was
true, could recommend such a book with effect ; but a
ghost from the grave the worthy bookseller should have.'
^ In connection -with this subject,
and the impression one cannot but
receive, from the downright earnest-
ness with which the invention is cha-
ractei'ised, that De Foe actually might
himself have believed in the possi-
bility of such a visitation, and so
might have thought it no bad service
to his countrymen to do his best to
persuade them of the like, even by
means of a fiction, — I ought here to
mention that, besides innumerable
passages in his general writings to the
same effect, he published a formal
treatise on Apparitions and Spirits,
and the strong probabilities of their
direcu communication with the visible
•world. There can be little doubt
that De Foe's I'eligious convictions
find belief sought help and sustain-
ment from speculations of this na-
ture, and that he held it to be the
moral and material delect of his day,
that the spiritual element in life ob-
tained such small recognition. ' ' Be-
" tween our ancestors laying too
" much stress on supernatural evi-
*' dences,"hesays, "and the present
" age endeavouring wholly to ex-
* ' plode and despise them, the world
*' seems hardly ever to have come
** to a right understanding . . .
*' Spirit is certainly something we do
** not fully understand in our present
' ' confined circumstances ; and, as
"we do not fully understand the
" thing, so neither can we distin-
** guish its operation. Yet not-
*' withstanding all this, it converses
*' here ; is with us and among us ;
** corresponds, though unembodied,
*' with our spirits ; and this con-
* * versing is not only by an invisible,
" but to us an inconceivable way."
Such communication he believes to
take place by two modes, First, by
'* immediate, personal, and parti-
" cular converse;" and secondly,
by " those spirits acting at a dis-
" tance, rendering themselves vi-
" sible, and their transactions per-
" ceptible, on such occasions as
*' they think fit, without any further
** acquaintance with the person."
It was his conviction that God had
posted an army of these ministering
spirits round our globe, "to be
" ready, at all events, to execute his
* * orders and to do his will ; reserv-
* ' ing still to himself to send express
" messengers of a superior rank on
" extraordinary occasions." These,
he adds, " may, without any ab-
" surdity, be supposed capable of
* ' assuming shapes, conversing with
" mankind by voice and sound, or
*' by private notices of things, im-
" pulses, forebodings, misgivings,
* and other imperceptible commu-
" nications to the minds of men, as
" God their great em^jloyer may
" direct." But, upon the power of
man to control, or communicate at
Lis will with such spiritual beings,
he entertains doubts, and gravely
protests against the arts of conjura-
tion. I subjoin also the curious
and somewhat touching passage in
which De Foe accounts for the
strength of these beliefs in him, by
the ordinary current of his daily ex-
periences. "I firmly believe, " says
he, " and have had such convincing
" testimonies of it, that I must be
" a confirmed atheist if I did not,
' * that there is a converse of spirits,
" I mean those unembodied, and
** those that are encased in flesh.
" From whence, else, come all those
* ' private notices, strong impulses,
" involuntary joy, sadness, and
" foreboding apprehensions, of and
De Foe.'] the ghost of mrs. veal.
121
As speedily done as said. De Foe sent him, in a few
days, The True History of the Apjmrition of one Mrs. Veal,
the next day after her Death, to one Mrs. Bargrave, at
Canterbury, the 8th of September, 1705. If such a thing
was ever to be believed, here it was made credible.
When Shakespeare invented five justices to put their
hand to that enormous flam of Autolycus, about the mer-
maid that appeared upon the coast on Wednesday the
fourscore of April, forty thousand fathom above water,
and sang her pitiful baUad of her love adventures, we
laugh at the joke, and there's an end of it. But here was
quite another matter. The very narrative purports to be
** about things immediately attend-
" ing us, and this in the most im-
* ' portant affairs of our lives ? That
"there are such things, I think I
" need not go about to prove ; and I
' ' believe they are, next to the Scrip-
* * tures, some of the best and most
* ' undeniable evidences of a future
* ' existence. It would be endless to
* ' fill this paper with the testimonies
" of learned and pious men ; and I
" could add to them a volume of my
' ' own experiences, some of them so
" strange as would shock your belief,
' ' though I could produce such proofs
" as would convince any man. I
" have had, perhaps, a greater va-
" riety of changes, accidents, and
" disasters, in my short unhapi)y
" life, than any man, at least than
'* most men alive : yet I had never
* ' any considerable mischief or dis-
* ' aster attending me, but, sleeping
" or waking, I have had notice of it
" beforehand ; and, had I listened
" to those notices, I believe might
" have shunned the evil. Let no
' ' man think this a jest. I seriously
" acknovvledge, and I do believe,
" my neglect of such notices has
" been my great injury ; and, since
" I have ceased to neglect them, I
*' have been guided to avoid even
** snares laid for my life, by no
' ' other knowledge of them than by
* * such notices and warnings ; and,
** more than that, have been guided
" by them to discover even the fact
** and the persons. I have living?
" witnesses to produce, to whom I
*' have told the particulars in the
'* very moment, and who have been
" so affected with them, as that
*' they have pressed me to avoid the
'* danger, to retire, to keep myself
'* up, and the like." At a time
(1855) when this subject has been
revived, in a form as little likely to
recommend it to the right feeling
as to the rational understanding of
the community, I have thought that
these extracts might be interesting.
I will add that this very Essay on
Apparitions contains one of the best
pieces of prose satire I know, de'
scriptive of a class of men rife in
De Foe's day, and not extirpated
since, to whom it would be as ridi-
culous to talk of such a subject as
to listen to its discussion by them.
" To see a fool," he says, " a fop,
"believe himself inspired ! — a fel-
" low that washes his hands fifty
" times a day, but, if he would be
" truly cleanly, should have his
* ' brains taken out and washed, his
"skull trepanned, and placed with
** the hinder side before ; so that
*' his understanding, which nature
" placed by mistake with the bottom
" upward, may be set right, and
"his memory placed in a right
" position ! To this unscrewed
*' engine, talk of spirits and of the
"invisible world, and of his con-
' ' versing with unembodied souls !
122 TITTLE TATTLE FROM THE OTRES, WORLD. [^Daniel
drawn up " by a gentleman, a Justice of Peace, at Maid-
" stone, in Kent, a very intelligent person.'^ Moreover,
it is attested by a " very sober and understanding gentle-
'* woman, who lives in Canterbury, witbin a few doors of
" the bouse in wbich Mrs. Bargrave lives." The one
vouches for the other, and the other vouches for Mrs. B.'s
veracity. The justice believes his kinswoman to be of so
discerning a spirit as not to be put upon by any fallacy ;
and the kinswoman positively assures the justice that the
whole matter, as it is related and laid down, is really true,
and what she herself heard, as near as may be, from Mrs.
Bargrave's own mouth : " who, she hioivs, had no reason
'' to invent or publish such a story, or any design to forge
" or tell a lie ; being a woman of so much honesty and
" virtue, and her whole life a course, as it were, of piety."
Now, surely this business-like, homely, earnest, common-
place air of truth, is perfectly irresistible. And what said
the ghost to Mrs. Bargrave ? Why, the ghost, in the
course of a long gossip, filled with the says I and thinks /,
the says she and thinks she, of the tea-table of a country
town, and in which are introduced scoured silks, broken
china, and other topics such as the ghost of an exciseman's
house-keeper might possibly talk over with a seamstress,
but which certainly nobody would ever think of inventing
for a supernatural visitation,— said, with all the confident
dogmatism of her recent mortuary experience, that Dre-
lincourt's book about Death was the best book ever written
on that subject. Doctor Sherlock was not bad ; two Dutch
books had merit ; several others were worth mention ;
but Drelincourt, she protested, had by far the clearest
notions of death and the future state, of any one who had
handled the matter. The Narrative was appended to the
book, and a new edition advertised. It flew like wildfire.
The copies, to use an illustration of Sir, Walter Scott's
(with whom the narrative was an immense favourite),
which had hung on the bookseller's hands as heavy as
*' when he has hardly brains to con- ''to see the Devil, in whatever
*' verse with anything but a pack " shape he is pleased to appear in,
*' of hounds, and owes it only to his " is not really qualified to live in
" being a fool that he does not con- *' this world, no, not in the quality
" verse with the devil ! — For I ** of a common inhabitant." I
"must tell you, good people," venture to commend these sentences
adds De Foe, " he that is not able to the admiration of Mr. Carlyle.
De Foe.'] negotiating Scottish union. 123
a pile of lead bullets, now traversed tlie town in every
direction, like the same bullets discharged from a field-
piece. Kay, the book has been popular ever since. More
than fifty editions have not exhausted its popularity. Mrs.
Yeal's ghost is still believed in by thousands ; and the
hundreds of thousands who have bought the silly treatise
of Drelincourt (for hawking booksellers have made their
fortunes by traversing the country with it in sixpenny
numbers), have borne unconscious testimony to the genius
of De Foe.
It was now engaged once more in the service of the
Ministry. He had, in various writings, prepared his
countrymen for the greatest political measure of the time;
he was known to have advised the late King on a project
for the Scottish Union ; and Godolphin, about to immor-
talise his administration by that signal act of statesman-
ship, called in the services of De Foe. He describes the
Lord-Treasurer's second introduction of him to her Ma-
jesty, and to the honour of kissing her hand. " Upon
" this second introduction, her Majesty was pleased to
" tell me, with a goodness peculiar to herself, she had
" such satisfaction in my former services that she ap-
" pointed me for another office." The greater part of
the next two years was passed in this office ; which seems
to have combined, with the duties of Secretary to the Eng-
lish Commissioners for the Union, considerable influence
derived from the Ministry at home. It was an important
appointment, and Godolphin was assailed for it. An
under spur-leather, forsooth, sent down to Scotland " to
" make the Union ! " It carried De Foe at various inter-
vals between Edinburgh and London ; it involved him in
continual discussion leading to or arising out of the mea-
sure, as well as in the riots which marked the excitement
of the time ; it procured for him what appears to have
been the really cordial and friendly attentions of the Duke
of Queensberry and Lord Buchan ;' it directed his atten-
tion to various matters which he believed to be essential
to Scottish prosperity ; and it grounded in him a high
respect and liking for the Scottish people. They had no
^ In after years De Foe's grandson bore Lord Buchan's name, David
Erskine.
124 EULOGY OF THE SCOTCH. [Daniel
truer friend or warmer advocate than De Foe in all subse-
quent years. He liked their love of liberty, he admired
their sober and grave observance of religious duties, he
celebrated their good feeling and hospitality, and he
pointed out the resources and capabilities of their soil.
" They who fancy," he said, in a passage characteristic
in the highest degree of his shrewd and sagacious observa-
tion, and of his manly sense and spirit, *' there is nothing
' to be had here but wild men and ragged mountains,
* storms, snows, poverty, and barrenness, are quite mis-
' taken ; it being a noble country, of a fruitful soil and
* healthy air, well seated for trade, full of manufactures
* by land, and a treasure as great as the Indies at their
' door by sea. The poverty of Scotland, and the fruit-
* fulness of England, or rather the difference between
' them, is owing not to mere difference of climate, or the
' nature of the soil ; but to the errors of time, and their
' different constitutions. And here I must tell our friends
* in England, who are so backward to set their country
' free, and so willing to enslave us again, that the different
^ face of the two countries, tp whoever will please to sur-
* vey them as I have done, is the best lecture upon
' politics. All the land in England is not fruitful, nor
* that in Scotland all barren. Climate cannot be the
' cause ; for the lands in the north of Scotland are in
'■ general better than the lands in Cornwall, which are
* near six hundred miles south of them. But Liberty and
^ Trade have made the one rich, and Tyranny the other
' poor." Nor did even such earnest eulogy suffice for
the tribute he would render to the Scotch. He broke
out again into verse, and wrote a poem in their praise ;
he busied himself earnestly with suggestions for their com-
mercial and national advancement; and he spent some
well- devoted labour, in after years, on the compilation of
a very minute, and, so to speak, highly dramatic History
of the Union. We rejoice to have to couple that act, so
eminently in the best spirit of the Eevolution, so large-
minded and so tolerant, with De Foe's name. It changed
turbulence to tranquillity ; rude poverty to a rich civi-
lisation ; and the fierce atrocities of a dominant church,
to the calm enjoyments of religious liberty.
A strange scene was meanwhile going on in London.
De Foe^l dismissal of harley. 125
The easy, indolent Prince George (whom Charles II.
said he had tried drunk and sober, and could do nothing
with him) had been heard to complain one day, in the
intervals of his dinner and his bottle, that the Queen
came very late to bed. This casual remark, falling on the
already sharp suspicions of the Duchess of Marlborough,
discovered the midnight conferences of the Queen with
Abigail Masham and her kinsman, Secretary Harley ; and
the good Mrs. Freeman, knowing that her dear Mrs.
Morley had not a stock of amity to serve above one object
at a time, at once peremptorily insisted on the suspension
of the Abigail, and the dismissal of the Secretary. We
state the fact without comment ; but it may be remarked,
that if Harley's back-stairs midnight visits impHed
treachery to his colleagues, it was not of that black kind
which would have ruined men who trusted him. It had
been clear to the Secretary for some time, that the Whigs
would not trust him. He says himself, and there is no
reason to doubt it, that he was not enough of a party-man
for them. One smiles, indeed, with a kind of sympathy
for him, to read in Lord Cowper's diary of two years'
date before this, his devotion of his best tokay ('' good,
** but thick ") to the hapless effort of Whig conciliation.
The accession of strength received from the great measure
of the Union, had been straightway used to weed his
friends from office. Hedges had made way for Sunder-
land ; and even Prior and his colleagues, in the Board of
Trade, had been removed. Nor was that an age in which
party warfare was scrupulous on either side. In the
session just begun, the party motion supported by
Eochester and Buckingham, to ruin the Whig chiefs of
the ministry, was supported by Somers and Wharton
with the sole hope of ruining Harley. In now retiring,
the Secretary's principal mortification would seem to
have been the necessity it laid him under of joining an
ultra-faction. He made a last attempt to conciliate
Cowper and Somers. But the arrangements were made.
To the ill-concealed grief and distress of the Queen, he
and his friend St. John retired ; Robert Walpole entered
the ministry ; Lord Somers was readmitted into the Privy
Council ; Lord Cowper received the Great Seal ; and the
imperious Duchess of Marlborough thought herself
126 THE WITS AT will's COFFEE HOUSE. \_Daniel
triumpliant. Slie had known Anne now forty years, but
she did not know the strength of her sullen obstinacy. In
a few months more, the death of the Prince threw fresh
power into Whig hands. Somers became President of
the Council, and Lord Wharton went to Ireland. He
took with him, as Secretary, Mr. Joseph Addison.
Mr. Addison was, at this time, less distinguished by the
fame of his writings than by that of his sayings. He was
the most popular man in the little commonwealth of Whig
wits, who now met nightly (Button's was not yet esta-
blished) at Will's coffee-house in Covent-garden. They
were a kind of off-shoot from the more dignified club who
ate mutton-pies at Kit Katt's the pastry-cook's ; and of
which the principal literary members were Congreve,
Garth, Yanbrugh, Steele, and Addison. The Revolution
gave a new character, in giving new duties, to associa-
tions of this kind. They were no longer what they were,
when, in this same Will's coffee-house, then called The
Eose, Dryden ruled the town wits from the Tory chair.
They were a recognised class, with influence before un-
known. In sketching the career of De Foe, we have
indicated its rise and growth. The people were beginning
to be important, and it was the only direct means of com-
munication with the people. Thus, the Kttle party at
WiU's were not sought, or courted, for the graces of their
wit and literature alone. That pale, bright-eyed, sickly,
deformed youth of one- and- twenty, whose Pastorals are
so much talked of just now, may seek them for no better
reason; but not for this are they sought by the tall,
stem-looking, dark-faced Irish priest, whose forty-two
years of existence have been a struggle of ill-endured
dependence and haughty discontent, which he now resolves
to redeem in the field of political warfare. Here, mean-
while, he amuses himself and the town with Mr. Bicker-
staff's joke against Mr. Partridge, suggesting to hearty
Dick Steele those pleasant Lucubrations' of Isaac, which,
in a few months more, are to take the town by storm ; or,
it may be, showing privately to Addison that sneer against
De Foe, worded with such malignant art, which he was
about now to give to the world. " One of those authors
" (the felloiv who icas pilloried, I have forgot his name) is
" indeed so grave, sententious, dogmatical a rogue, that
T)e Foe.'] copyright act passed. 127
" there is no enduring him/' ' That was it ! There was
profiting hy his labour ; there was copying the sugges-
tions of his genius ; there was travelling to wealth and
power along the path struck out hy his martyrdom ; hut,
for this very reason, there was no enduring him. A man
who will go into the pillory for his opinions, is not a
" cluhable " man. Yet, at this very moment, De Foe
was labouring for the interests of the literary class. For
twenty years he had urged the necessity of a law to pro-
tect an author's property in his writings, and in this
session the Copyright Act was passed. The common law
recognised a perpetual right, but gave no means of
enforcing it ; the statute limited the right, and gave the
means. It was a sort of cheat, but better than unlimited
robbery.^
Notwithstanding Harley's retirement, De Foe con-
tinued in the service of Godolphin's Ministry. But, at
the special desire of Harley himself; to whom, as the
person by whom he had first been employed for Anne, and
whose apparently falling fortunes were a new claim of
attachment, he considered himself bound. " Nay, not so,
" Mr. De Foe," said Harley, " I shall not take it ill from
" you in the least. Besides, it is the Queen you are serv-
" ing, who has been very good to you." The words were
well selected for continuance of the tenure by which the
sagacious diplomatist had first engaged his services. He
went to the Lord-Treasurer accordingly, who received
* He hated him still worse, when " Books are printed by nobody, and
he found him writing for Harley on * ' wrote by everybody. One man
the same side with himself, and be- " prints another man's works, and
came conscious that hack partisans " calls them his own ; another man
on the other side did not scruple to *' prints his own, and calls them by
couple them together, as "' fellow- *' the name of another. Continual
"labourers in the service of the "robberies, piracies, and invasions
*' white Staff." " He paid De Foe '* of property, occur in the occupa-
*' better than he did Swift, looking " tion. One man shall study seven
"on him as the shrewder head of "years to bring a finished piece
"the two for business," is the " into the world; and, as soon as
reckless assertion of Oldmixon. " produced, it shall be republished
^ I have adverted to this subject "by some piratical printer at a
in a previous note (ante, p. 105-7) ; " quarter of the price, and sold for
but I may add, in a few pregnant ' * his own benefit. These things
sentences from one of De Foe's Be- " call loudly for an act of parlia-
riews of this date, a description ©f " ment."
the existing abuses of the law : —
128 MINISTERIAL EMPLOYMENTS. [Daniel
him witli great friendliness, and told him, *' smiling," he
had not seen him a long while. De Foe frankly men-
tioned his obligations to Harley, and his fear that his
interest might be lessened on that account. " Not at all,
" Mr. De Foe," rejoined Godolphin ; " I always think a
" man honest till I find the contrary." To which De
Foe might have added, without rebuke, in the language
he always afterwards used of Harley, " And I shall ever
" preserve this principle, that an honest man cannot be
*' ungrateful to his benefactor." The scrupulous author,
nevertheless, considered it his duty, while now again
engaged in ministerial employments,' entirely to cease
communication with the rival statesman, tiU he again
appeared as a pubKc minister.
It was not very long. Nor had the Ministry, on the
score of moderation at any rate, profited greatly by his
absence ; while he, by the position of parties, was driven
to the extreme of opposition. Despairing of the Queen's
power to second her well-known incKnation, the High
Church trumpet had again sounded to battle, and De Foe
had again buckled on his armour of offence against both
^ What these employments exactly " tell me the rest ; and so I with-
"were, is not now known ; but they *' drew. The next day, his lordship
were thus hinted at by himself, when " having commanded me to attend,
lie defended his conduct after the ' * told me that he must send me to
death of Anne : — '* After this re- *' Scotland, and gave me but three
*' ception my Lord Godolphin had *' days to prepare myself, Accord-
" the goodness, not only to introduce *' ingly, I went to Scotland, where
*' me for the second time to her " neither my business nor the
*' Majesty, and to the honour of *' manner of my discharging it is
"kissing her hand, but obtained "material to this tract; nor will
' ' for me the continuance of an ap- * ' it be ever any part of my cha-
" pointment which her Majesty had " racter that I reveal what should
*' been pleased to make me, in con- "be concealed. And yet my errand
" sideration of a former special "was such, as was far from being
' * service I had done, and in which ' ' unfit for a sovereign to direct, or
" I had run as much risk of my " an honest man to perform ; and
" life as a grenadier upon the " the service I did upon that occa-
" counterscarp .... Upon this " sion, as it is not unknown to the
"second introduction, her Majesty "greatest man now in the nation
" was pleased to tell me with a " under the King and the Prince,
"goodness peculiar to herself, that "so, I dare say, his Grace was
" she had such satisfaction in my "never displeased with the part I
" former services that she had ap- " had in it, and I hope will not
"pointed me for another afiair, " forget it." The last allusion, I
" which was something nice, and need hardly say, is to the Duke of
" that my Lord- Treasurer should ]\Iarlborough.
De Foe.'l short hixt to impartial writers. 129
ultra-parties. Again, as he says himself, he went on
freely telling offensive truths, regarding no censures, fear-
ing no prosecutions, asking no favour of any man, making
no court to any, and expecting not to oblige even those
whom he thought the best of. It was now he told the world
that fate of the unbiassed writer, with Avhich a celebrated
journal of modern days has familiarized its readers. " If
" I might give a short hint to an impartial writer, it
" should be to tell him his fate. If he resolves to venture
" upon the dangerous precipice of teUing unbiassed truths,
" let him proclaim war with mankind a la mode le pays de
** Pole J neither to give nor take quarter, (jf he tells the
*' crimes of great men, they fall upon him with the iron
" hands of the law ; if he tells them of their virtues,
" when they have any, then the mob attacks him with
" slander. But if he regards truth, let him expect
" martyrdom on both sides, and then he may go on fear-
" less. And this is the course I take myself.''^ It was now,
describing his personal treatment by one of the Tory
mobs, he told them the destiny of all who had ever
served them. " He that will help you, must be hated
*' and neglected by you, must be mobbed and plundered
" for you, must starve and hang for you, and must yet
" help you. And thus I do.'*
We could give numberless instances from the Review
itself, if space permitted ; but, limited as we are in this
respect, it Tvill perhaps suffice if we turn to the Biary of
LuttreU, and take a note or two from that voluminous
record as the mere type or indication of a petty persecu-
tion, quite wonderful for its eager activity, which from
month to month, and year to year, was incessantly directed
against this indomitable man. On one occasion, Tuesday
the 15th of October 1706, LuttreU tells us (vi. 98) that
Daniel De Foe was carried before the Lord Chief Justice
Holt, for *' inserting a speech in his Review relating to
" the Union, 'pretending the same was made by a great
" lawyer, and was bound over for the same, himself in
*' 200/, and two sureties in 100/ each." A year later, the
same pains-taking authority informs us (vi. 215-16), the
Swedish envoy had complained against De Foe for reflect-
ing on his master in his Reviews of the 9th and 28th of
August, and the 2nd of September ; and in consequence
180 MARTYRDOM BY PETTY PERSECUTIONS. [Daniel
thereof, on Tuesday the 23rd of September 1707 (the same
night on which his old antagonist, Tutchin of the Ohser-
fatoTf died), there went into Scotland "an order to take
" into custody Daniel De Foe for reflecting on the King of
*' Sweden in his EeviezvJ' Again, not a month later,
Luttrell tells us (under date of Saturday the 18th of
October) that the Muscovite ambassador has complained
against Daniel De Foe for the following expression in his
Mevieio of the preceding Thursday, ^^ Money makes Chris-
** tians fight for the Turks, money hires servants to the Devil,
" nay, to the very Czar of Muscovy." As to which,
on the next following Tuesday, the same trustworthy per-
son further relates that, " The Earl of Sunderland has
*' writ to the Muscovite Ambassador here, that he will
" take care the author of the Revino shall be prosecuted
" for the reflection upon his master." And so the pro-
secution and persecution went on, and so went on De Foe ;
mobbed and plundered by those whom he opposed, disliked
and neglected by those whom he served, but expecting
from both sides the martyrdom he received, and therefore
still going on fearless.
But now came suddenly again upon the scene De Foe's
old friend Dr. Henry Sacheverell. This brawling priest
attacked Godolphin in the pulpit by the name of Voljwne ;
inveighed against Burnet and other bishops for not un-
furling the bloody flag against Dissent; abused the
Revolution as unrighteous ; and broadly reasserted non-
resistance and passive obedience. The fellow was such
a fool and madman that a serious thought should not have
been wasted on him, whatever might be reckoned needful
to discountenance his atrocious doctrines. This was the
feeling of De Foe. When Harley called the sermon a
" circumgyration of incoherent words", (in a speech thought
to merit the same description), it seems to have been his
feeling too. It was certainly that of Lord Somers, and
of the best men in the cabinet. They all knew his noisy
ignorance. His illustration of " parallel lines meeting in
*' a centre," was a standing joke with the wits. But Vol-
pone stuck to Godolphin, and an impeachment was resolved
upon. The Minister little thought, when he took to what
Burnet calls the luxury of roasting a parson, that the fire
.would blaze high enough to roast himself and his colleagues.
De Foe,'] sacheyerell's trial. 131
Harley made a shrewder guess. He was dining with a
friend in tlie country when the news reached him. " The
" game is up," he cried; left the dinner-table, and hurried
to London. In vain De Foe still urged, " Let us have
*' the crime punished, not the man. The bar of the House
" of Commons is the worst pillory in the nation." In that
elevated pillory, Sacheverell Avas placed ; weU dressed,
with clean gloves, with white handkerchief well managed,
and with other suitable accomplishments ; — Atterbury,
who secretly despised him, in affected sympathy by his
side ; the mob without, screaming for their mart}T ; and
women, high and low, frantic with admiration. "You
*' could never embark the ladies," said De Foe, " till you
" fell upon the clergy. As soon as you pinch the parson,
" the women are one woman in his defence." His
description of the interest created by the impeachment is
one of his happiest pieces of quiet irony. It has also his-
toric value. The ladies, he tells us, laid aside their
chocolate, their china, and their gallantries, for State
business; the Tatler, the immortal Tatler, the great
Bickerstaff himself (to whom, let us remark by the way,
De Foe, in his hearty admiration,' had lately resigned
the offices of his own Scandal Club), was fain to leave off
talking to them ; they had no leisure for church ; little
Miss, still obliged to go, had the Doctor's picture put into
her prayer-book ; even Punch laid aside his domestic
broils, to gibber for the holy man ; and not only were the
churches thinned, and the parks, but the very playhouses
felt the effects, and Betterton died a beggar. Well had
it been, however, if this were all. A series of horrible
riots followed. Meeting-houses were pulled down ; the
bloody flag was in reality unfurled ; mounted escorts,
carrying martyr Sacheverell about the country, were
1 This feeling led him soon after "doled him, examined him, &c.
to condemn Steele for taking any " He should have let envy bark,
public notice of Ids quondam friend " aad fools rail ; and, according to
S^^'ift's vituperation. "For my "his own observation of the fable
" part," he says, "I have always " of the sun, continued to shine on.
*' thought that the weakest step the " This I have found to be agreeable
" Tatler ever took, if that complete " to the true notion of contempt.
*' author can be said to have done " Silence is the utmost slight nature
*^ anything weak, was to stoop to "can dictate to a man, and the
" take the least notice of the bark- " most insupportable for a vain man
" iugs of the animals that have cou- " to bear."
K 2
133 THE HARLEY MINISTRY. [DaHtel
everywhere the signal for the plunder and outrage of
Dissenters; the martyr's printed defence (filled with
abuse of De Foe and his Revietcs) circulated by tens
of thousands; and Lord -Treasurer Godolphin was
ordered to break his staff, and make way for Robert
Harley.
Harley took ofiice ; and at once began the work, which,
whatever the motives we assign to him, and whatever the
just faults we may find with the absence of decision in
his mind and in his temper, we must admit that he con-
tinued to the last^ of opposing, against his own interests,
the exterminating policy of the party who had borne him
into power. While several leading Whigs yet retained
office, he again unsuccessfully attempted a coalition with
Cowper and Walpole ; and it was not until wholly rebuffed
in this quarter that he completed his High Tory cabinet,
and determined to risk a dissolution. St. John was made
secretary ; Harcourt had the great seal ; and he himself
took the treasurer's staff. The elections gave him a
majority, though not very decisive ; and Anne's celebrated
Last Administration began its career. A man might pre-
dict in some sort the course of it, who had seen the new
Premier on the first of October ; the day before the meet-
ing of Parliament. He was not at the palace of the
Queen, nor in his office of business with Harcourt or
St. John; but he was stopping in his coach at the
St. James's coffee-house, to set down Jonathan Swift.
" He knew my Christian name very well," says the
Journal to Stella. On that day the reverend ex- Whig
partizan had sent forth a lampoon against Godolphin, and
had paid his first visit to Harley. On the 4th he dined
with him. Afterwards, his visits were daily welcomed.
The proud and long-neglected Priest found himself, on
one and the same hopeful October day, dining for ten-
pence in his old chop-house; then going "reeking"
from thence to the first minister of state; and then, in
charity, sending a Tatler to Steele, "who is very low
" of late." Others were " low " too. There was Con-
greve, a resolute Whig, and member of the Kit Katt,
whose little place depended on the Ministry. But
Harley quieted his fears with a happy quotation from
Yirgil:
De Foe.'\ interview with the LOHD-THEASniER. 133
Kon obtusa adeo gestaraiis pectora Pceni,
ISTec tarn aversus equos Tyria sol jungit ab urbe.^
• Whatever else, then, were the objections to this states-
man, they did not lie on the score of his indifference to
genius. The Administration organised, he sent for De
Foe. A different course was needed with Daniel from
that which had been taken with Jonathan. Harley knew
De Foe thoroughly; and was certainly not sorry to know
that the High Church majority in the Commons might
have been much larger, but for his unwearied personal
and public exertions against that faction, in the elections
recently closed. De Foe distinctly states the result of
the interview to have been, that he capitulated for liberty
to speak according to his own judgment of things, and
that he had this liberty allowed him. Nor did he
wait on Harley, till he had first consulted the dismissed
Godolphin ; who counselled him to consider himself as
the Queen's servant, to wait until he saw things settled,
and then to take her Majesty's commands from the new
minister. In the same tone Harley conferred with him
now. And if we couple the interview with the paper sent
forth in the Review which first opened the fury of the
"Whig batteries on De Foe, we shall find everything to
confirm the impression here taken of it ; as well of the
character of Harley himself, as of the honourable grounds
of De Foe's conditional support. He states his opinion
to be, that the Ministry must be carried on upon the
foundation, and with the principles, of the Eevolution.
This, he adds, even though mth it should come the fate
of pleasing and displeasing all parties in their turn, can
be the only safe guide where so many parties alternately
govern, and where men of the same party have so often
been of several opinions about the same thing. If, on
the other hand, they reject such guidance, another kind
of language would have to be talked to them. " For, let
" not governors flatter themselves, nor people be dismayed
" — the Revolution cannot be overthrown in Britain. It
" is not in the power of ministry or party, prince or
" parliament, to do it. If the attempt is made, let them
^ " Our hearts are not so cold, nor '* Of Sol so distant from the race of
flames the fire Tyre."
134 SUPERIORITY TO PARTY. \T)aniel
" look to it that venture upon tlie attempt. The People
" of England have tasted Liberty, and I cannot think
^' they mil bear the exchange." He then says explicitly,
that he shall not go along with the Ministry unless they
go along with him. He exults in Harley's known
inclination to the Whigs ; and indeed he argues that
the Constitution is of such a nature, that, whoever may
he in it, if they are faithful to their duty, " it ivill either
"find them Whigs or make them so.'' In short, he lays it
down as a truth not to he disputed, that they all had but
one interest as Englishmen, whatever interest they might
have as to parties.
And upon these plain principles Daniel He Foe acted.
They were principles professed by Swift two years later ;
but never, we regret to say, whether later or earlier, impli-
citly acted on by him. " I bear all the Ministry to be my
" witnesses," he wrote to Steele, in whose Correspondence
the letter may be found, " that there is hardly a man of
" wit of the adverse party, whom I have not been so bold
" as to recommend often and with earnestness to them :
" for I think principles at present are quite out of the
" case, and that we dispute wholly about persons. In
*' these last, you and I differ : but in the other, I think
" we agree; for I have in print professed myself in politics
'' to be what we formerly called a Whig." And in two
months from the date of the letter, he was covering this
very Dick Steele with the most lavish contempt, for no
better reason than that he held Whig principles. But he
wrote for power, and got it ; while De Foe wrote for what
he believed to be the public service, and got no reward
but the consciousness of having done so.
Compare Swift's Examiner with De Foe's Review^ and
the distinction is yet more plain. It is earnest and manly
reasoning against a series of reckless libels. Libels,
too, in which the so-called advocate of Harley is de-
nounced by Harley 's confidential friend as an illiterate
idiot. " Much wit in that," quietly answered De Foe ;
who never was seduced into party lampooning, who held
that no difference of opinion should discharge the obli-
gation of good manners,' and who, even at moments like
^ At a time when De Foe waa troversy, it is for ever to be recorded
engaged in his bitterest political con- to his honour, in that age of habitual
De F0S.'\ REPLY TO JONATHAN SWIFT. 135
these, held Swift's wit and genius in honour. " Now, I
^* know a learned man at this time, an orator in the Latin,
" a walking Index of books, who has all the libraries in
" Europe in his head, from the Vatican at Rome to the
" learned collection of Doctor Salmon at Fleet Ditch ;
" but he is a cynic in behaviour, a fury in temper, unpolite
" in conversation, abusive in language, and ungovernable
" in passion. Is this to be learned ? Then may I still be
" illiterate. I have been, in my time, pretty well master
" of five languages, and have not lost them yet, though I
" write no bill over my door, nor set Latin quotations in
" any part of the Review. But, to my irreparable loss, I
" was bred only by halves ; for my father, forgetting
" Juno's royal academy, left the language of Billingsgate
" quite out of my education. Hence I am, in the polite
'^ style of the street, perfectly illiterate ; and am not fit to
" converse with the porters and carmen of quality, who
" adorn their diction wtth the beauties of calling names,
" and cursing their neighbour with a bonne grace. I have
" had the honour to fight a rascal, but never could muster
" the eloquence of calling a man so." This was the manly
and calm spirit of every return vouchsafed by the author of
the Review to the cross-fire that now assailed him. He was
content, whether defending or opposing, to stand Alone.
He did not think the Brothers' Club had helped the
Ministry, nor that the Scriblerus Club would be of any
service to Literature. He preferred to stand where he
libel and reckless personal abuse, '* satisfy you. I have not been
that hethus wrote to his antagonist : " desirous of giving just offence to
" But to state the matter fairly be- " you, neither would I to any man,
" tween you and me, as writing for " however I may differ from him ;
*' different interests, and so possibly *' and I see no reason why I should
** coming under an unavoidable *' affront a man's person, because I
"necessity of jarring in several *' do not join with him in principle.
" cases, I am ready to make a fair '* I always thought that men might
"truce of honour with you, viz. *' dispute without railing, and dif-
" that if what either party are doing " fer without quarrelling, and that
" or saying may clash with the party "opinions need not affect our
" we are for, and urge us to speak, "temper," Most admirably and
" it shall be done without naming wisely did he say on another occa-
"either's name, and without personal sion, in reference to the same vile
* ' reflections ; and thus we may differ habit of personal recrimination, ' ' I
"still, and yet preserve both the " have always carefully avoided lash-
" Christian and the gentleman. " ing any man's private infirmities,
"This, 1 think, is an offer may " as being too sensible of my owu."
136 CHARGED WITH WRITING FOR PLACE. \_Daniel
did ; " unplaced, unpensioned, no man's heir or slave ;"
in frank and free communication with his countrymen.
And therefore was he assailed hy Tory scribes on the one
hand, and by Whig scribes on the other, who could yet only
join their attacks on the one point of accusing him of a
hankering after place. " And what place do I write for ? "
he pleasantly asked. " I have not yet inquired whether
" there is a vacancy in the press-yard ; but I know of no
" place anybody could think I should be writing for,
" unless it be a place in Newgate, for this truly may be
" the fate of any body that dare to speak plainly to men
" in power." The same charge had been brought against
him while yet the old Whigs held office. " As to places,
" I have been seven years under what we call a Whig
" government, and have not been a stranger to men in
" power. I have had the honour to be told I served that
" government ; the fury of an enraged party has given
" their testimony to it, and I could produce yet greater ;
" but the man is not alive of whom I have sought pre-
** ferment or reward. If I have espoused a wrong cause ;
" if I have acted in a good cause in an unfair manner ;
" if I have, for fear, favour, or by the bias of any man in
" the world, great or small, acted against what I always
" professed, or what is the known interest of the nation ;
" if I have any way abandoned that glorious principle of
" truth and liberty, which I ever was embarked in, and
" which I trust I shall never, through fear or hope, step
" one inch back from, — if I have done thus, then, as
" Job says in another case, ' Let thistles grow instead
*' * of wheat, and cockles instead of barley ;' then, and
" not till then, may I be esteemed a mercenary, a mis-
" sionary, a spy, or what you please. But, if the cause
*' be just, if it be the peace, security, and happiness of
" both nations, if I have done it honestly and effectually
" — how does it alter the case if I have been fairly
'' encouraged, supported, and rewarded in the work, as
"God knows I have not? Does the mission disable the
" messenger, or does it depend upon the merit of the
" message ? " *
^ His experiences derived from stated in another of his ■writings.
Buch support as he had given Har- After telling the story of a malcon-
ley's government, were very happily tent, " of a reign not many years
T)e Foe.'\ a tebtor and creditor accouxt. 137
And now, as tlie best comment we can make upon this
manly avowal, let us briefly state De Foe's debtor-and-
creditor account with the Administration of Eobert
Harley.
He supported him against the October Club ; a party
of a hundred country gentlemen, who drank October ale,
and would have driven things to extremes against the
Whigs. He supported him against the bigot Rochester ;
and against the tiery, impatient Bolingbroke. He sup-
ported him against the Whigs ; when the Whigs, to
avenge their party disappointments, laid aside their
noblest principles, and voted with Lord Findlater for the
dissolution of the Scottish Union. He supported him
also against the Whigs, when, for no nobler reason, they
joined with his old enemy Lord Nottingham, to oppress
and disable the Dissenters. And again he supported him
against the Whigs, when, speaking through their ablest
and most liberal representatives, the WalpoleS; and the
Stanhopes, they declared emphatically, and in all circum-
stances, for a total prohibition of trade mth France.
It was on this latter question De Foe would seem to have
incurred their most deadly hatred. He had achieved the
repute of a great authority in matters of the kind ; and
" behind ns" (whether he -wrote '* them stopped ; like a sort of dogs
Postboys or Examiners, De Foe " I have met with, that, when they
humorously interposes, authors are * ' attend under your table, bark
not agreed), who, when an argu- " that they may be fed. 1 remem-
ment was brought a little too close '* ber a man of some note who
to him, said, " Sir, you would rail '* practised this with great success,
" as I do, if you were not bribed ;" " and canted a long while in the
to which the other replied, "Ay, *' House of Commons about abuses
" and you would be quieter than I, "in the management, misapplying
"if anybody would bribe you;" — "the public treasure, making
he proceeds to remark : "Three "felonious treaties, and the like ;
' ' sorts of men always rail at a Gro- ' * but a wise old fox no sooner
*' vernment. First, those whose " halved his den to this badger,
" opinion of their own merit makes " but he put a stop to the clamour,
' ' them think they are never well " and the nation's treasure was
"enough rewarded. The second " never misapplied since, because a
" sort are those, who, having en- " good share of it ran his way."
"joyed favours, but being found The wise old reynard was Sir
"unworthy, are discarded from Stephen Fox ; and the quieted bad-
" their offices ; these always rail ger, a certain notorious place-hunter
" as if they had never been obliged, of the parliament of William and
" But we have a third sort of peo- Anne, Mr. John Howe, MP, whom
" pie who always go with their Sir Stephen made joint Paymaster
"mouths open, in order to have of the Forces with himself.
138 HARLEY AND BOLINGBROKE SUPPORTED. \T)aniel
he threw it all into the scale in favour of Bolingbroke's
treaty. He wrote on it often and largely ; with eminent
ability, and with great effect. His view briefly was, that
the principle of a free trade, unencumbered by prohibi-
tions, and with very moderate duties, was "not only
" equal and just, but proceeding on the true interest of
" trade, and much more to the advantage of Britain than
" of France." ^ What disadvantages of unpopularity such
reasoning had then to contend with, we need not say ; the
cry of Trade and Wool did as much for the Whigs, as that
of Sacheverell and the Church had done for the Tories ;
but He Foe opposed both alike, and it is not very pro-
bable that he will be traduced for it now.
But we have not yet stated the reverse of his account
in connection with Robert Harley's Administration. It
it not less honourable to him.
He did not oppose the Peace when settled ; but while
it was in progress he opposed the terms. He desired
peace ; but he did not think the Spanish guarantees sufii-
cient. He thought that Europe had been saved by the
policy of William and the Whigs, and by the genius of
Marlborough ; but he did not approve of the violent
method of winding up the war. He was, in short, glad
when it was done, but would have been ashamed to take
part in doing it : and the best judgment of posterity, we
believe, confirms that judgment. He opposed the crea-
tion of Peers. He opposed strongly, while the Whigs
made the feeblest resistance, the Parliamentary Qualifica-
tion act ; which he condemned for a lurking tendency to
give preponderance to the landed interest. He opposed
the Occasional Conformity bill; though his position
1 He argued this question of Free traordinarily scarce. When Mr.
Trade, which he dealt with in a Wilson published his Life of De
spirit greatly in advance of his Foe, he had not been able to get
time, chiefly in a government paper sight of a copy. One of the very
called the Mercator, set on foot by few in existence belongs to my
Harley, in which he had no per- friend Mr. Crossley of Manchester,
sonal or pecuniary interest, and who justly describes it as "replete
over which (though he was very un- " with the vigour, the life and ani-
justly made responsible for all its " mation, the various and felicitous
contents) he exercised no control ; *' power of illustration, which this
but to whose pages he contributed a "great and truly English author
series of most remarkable papers on " could impart to any subject."
commercial subjects. It is now ex-
De Foe.'] harley and bolingbroke opposed. 139
respecting it was such tliat lie might fairly have kept his
peace. He opposed the Tax upon Papers ; and bitterly-
denounced the malignant attack upon the Press which
signalised Bolingbroke's few days' Ministry. He concen-
trated all his strength of opposition against the same
statesman's Schism bill ; in which an attempt was made
to deprive Dissenters of all share in the work of educa-
tion, grounded precisely on those preposterous High
Church claims which we have seen flagrantly revived in
more recent days. Let us show, by a memorable passage
from the Review, how httle Church pretensions and extra-
vagances alter, while all else alters around them. " AVho
" are they that at this juncture are so clamorous against
*' Dissenters, and are eagerly soliciting for a further
" security to the Church ? Are they not that part of the
" clergy who have already made manifest advances towards
** the s}Tiagogue of Rome ? they who preach the inde-
" pendency of the Church on the State ? who urge the
*' necessity of auricular confession, sacerdotal absolution,
" extreme unction, and prayer for the dead ? who expressly
*' teach the real presence in the Lord's Supper, which they
" will have to be a proper sacrifice ? and who contend for
*' the practice of rebaptising, wherein they overshoot the
" Papists themselves ? Are they not they who are loudly
" clamorous for those church lands which, to the unspeak-
" able detriment of the public, were in the days of igno-
" ranee given to impudent begging friars ? " Finally,
when it was whispered about that the leading Ministers
were intriguing for the succession of the Pretender ;
and when it was reported everywhere that the mani-
festo of the Jacobites against a Protestant succession
lay splendidly bound in the Queen's closet at Windsor ;
De Foe wrote and published those three pamphlets,
which, for prompt wit and timely satire, may be classed
with his best efforts : A Seasonable Caution. — What if the
Pretender should come ? — and, What if the Queen should
die ?
It is almost inconceivable that the Whigs should have
led the cry against him on the score of these admirable
pieces ; but it is another proof of the blindness of party
malice. The men of whose principles throughout life he
had been the sturdiest advocate, were the Dissenters and
140 AGAIN IN NEWGATE. [^Daniel
the Whigs ; and, as he had to thank the one for his
earliest experience of a prison, for his latest he had now
to thank the other. A great Whig light, Mr. Auditor
Benson, commenced a prosecution against him, at his
private cost, for desiring by these works to favour the
Jacobite succession ; their mode of recommending the
Jacobite succession having been, to say that it would con-
fer on every one the privilege of wearing wooden shoes,
and ease the nobility and gentry of the hazard and ex-
pense of winter journeys to Parliament ! But dulness had
the odds against wit, in this as in the former instance ;
and the prosecutors had no difficulty in finding judges to
tell Be Foe, " that they contained matter for which he
*' might be hanged, drawn, and quartered." He was ac-
cordingly thrown again into Newgate ; and might possibly
again have been taken from thence to the pillory, but for
the interposition of Harley, now Lord Oxford. He repre-
sented the matter to the Queen ; and made known to Be
Foe the opinion expressed by Anne. " She saw nothing
" but private pique in it." A pardon was issued by
Bolingbroke, and the prisoner released. But not until,
with an instinct that the end was now approaching, he
had brought his JReview to a close, within the hard un-
genial walls wherein it had begun. It was with a some-
what sorrowful retrospect he closed it, but not without a
dignified content. There were two sorts of people out of
reach by the world, he said — those that are above, and
those that are below it ; they might be equally happy,
for aught he knew ; and between them he was not un-
willing to accept the lot, which, as it placed him below
envy, yet lifted him far above pity. In the school of
affliction, he bethought him he had learned more philoso-
phy than at the academy, and more divinity than from
the pulpit ; in prison, he had learned to know that liberty
does not consist in open doors, or the free egress and re-
gress of locomotion. He had seen the rough and smooth
sides of the world, and tasted the difference between the
closet of a King and the Newgate dungeon. Here, in
the dungeon, he had still, " with humblest acknowledg-
" ments" to remember that a glorious Prince had " loved"
him ; and, whatever Fortune had still in store, he felt
himself not unfit, by all this discipline, for serious applica-
De Foe.'\ triumph of the whigs. 141
tion to the great, solemn, and weighty work, of resigna-
tion to the will of Heaven.
The cheerful and pious resignation for which De Foe
had so prepared himself, he needed when the crisis came.
It is not our province here to dwell on the memorable
scenes of 1714, which consigned Oxford to the Tower
and Bolingbroke to exile ; shattered the Tory Party ;
settled the succession of Hanover ; and fixed the "VYhigs
in power. The principles for which De Foe had con-
tended all his Hfe, were at last securely established ; and
for his reward, he had to show the unnoticed and
unprotected scars of thirty-two years' incessant po-
Htical conflict. But he retired as he had kept the field
— with a last hearty word for his patron Harley ; and
with a manly defence against the factious slanders which
had opened on himself. He probably heard the delighted
scream of Mr. Boyer, as his figure disappeared ; to the
effect of how fully he had been " confuted by the ingenious
" and judicious Joseph Addison, esquire." Doubtless he
also smiled to observe what Whig rewards for pure Whig
service were now most plentifully scattered. The inge-
nious Joseph Addison, esquire. Secretary of State ; Mr.
Steele, Sir Richard, and Surveyor of the royal stables ;
Mr. Tickell, Irish Secretary ; Mr. Congreve, twelve
hundred a-year ; Mr. Rowe, Mr. Hughes, Mr. Ambrose
Phillips, all snugly and comfortably sinecured. For
himself, he was in his fifty-fourth year ; and, after a life
of bodily and mental exertion that would have worn down
a score of ordinary men, had to begin life anew.
Into that new life we shall enter but briefly. It is
plain to all the world. It is the life by which he became
immortal* It is contained in the excellent books which
are named at the head of this article; and there the world
may read it, if they will. What we sought to exhibit
here, we trust we have made sufiiciently obvious. After
all the objections that may be justly made to his opinions,
on the grounds of shortcoming or excess, we believe that
in the main features of the career we have set before the
reader, will be recognised a noble English example of
the quaHties most prized by Englishmen. De Foe is
our only famous politician and man of letters, who repre-
142 . A TYPE OF ENGLISH CHARACTER. [Daniel
I sented, in its inflexible constancy, sturdy dogged resolu-
\ tion, unwearied perseverance, and obstinate contempt of
Ndanger and of tyranny, the great Middle-class English
character. We beheve it to be no mere national pride to
say, that, whether in its defects or its surpassing merits,
the world has had none other to compare with it. He lived
in the thickest stir of the conflict of the four most violent
party reigns of English history ; and, if we have at last
entered into peaceful possession of most part of the rights
at issue in those party struggles, it the more becomes us
to remember such a man with gratitude, and with wise
consideration for what errors we may find in him. He was
too much in the constant heat of the battle, to see all that
we see now. He was not a philosopher himself, but he
helped philosophy to some wise conclusions. He did not
stand at the highest point of toleration, or of moral
wisdom ; but, with his masculine active arm, he helped to
lift his successors over obstructions which had stayed his
own advance. He stood, in his opinions and in his actions,
alone and apart from his fellow-men ; but it was to show
his fellow-men of later times the value of a juster and
larger fellowship, and of more generous modes of action.
And when he now retreated from the world Without to
the world Within, in the solitariness of his unrewarded
service and integrity, he had assuredly earned the right
to challenge the higher recognition of Posterity. He
was walking towards History with steady feet ; and might
look up into her awful face with a brow unabashed and
undismayed.
Here was his language, when, withdrawn finally and
for ever from the struggle, he calmly reviewed the part
he had taken in it. " I was, from my first entering into
" the knowledge of public matters, and have ever been to
" this day, a sincere lover of the constitution of my country ;
" zealous for Liberty and the Protestant interest : but a
" constant follower of moderate principles, and a vigorous
" opposer of hot measures in all. I never once changed
*' my opinion, my principles, or my party ; and let what
" will be said of changing sides, this I maintain, that I
" never once deviated from the Revolution principles, nor
" from the doctrine of liberty and property on which it
** was founded." Describing the qualities that should
T)C Foe.'j MORAL AND SOCIAL WRITIXGS. 143
distinguisli a man who, in those critical time?, elected so
to treat of public affairs, he added : " Find him where
" you will, this must be his character. He must be one
" that, searching into the depths of truth, dare speak her
" aloud in the most dangerous times ; that fears no face,
" courts no favour, is subject to no interest, bigoted to no
" party, and will be a hypocrite for no gain. I icill not
" sap lam the man. I leave that to posterity."
His last poKtical Essay was written in 1715 ; and while
the proof-sheets lay uncorrected before him, he was
struck with apoplexy. After some months' danger he
rallied ; and in the three following years sent forth a
series of works, chiefly moral and religious, and of which
the Family Instructor and the Religious Courtship may be
mentioned as the types, which were excellently adapted
to a somewhat limited purpose, and are still in very high
esteem. They are far too numerous even for recital here.
They had extraordinary popularity ; went through count-
less editions ; and found their way not only in handsome
setting-forth to the King's private library, but on rough
paper to all the fairs and markets of the kingdom. In
the fact that Goldsmith makes his lively Livy Primrose
as thoroughly acquainted with the dialogue in Religious
Courtship y as she is with the argument of man Friday and
his Master in Robinson Crusoe, and with the disputes of
Thwackum and Square in Tom Jones, we may see in what
vogue they continued to that date. But beyond, and up
to the beginning of the century, they were generally
among the standard prize books of schools ; and might be
seen lying in coarse workman-garb, with Pomfrefs Poems
or Hervey's Meditations, on the window-seat of any trades-
man's house. Grave moral and religious questions had,
in truth, not before been approached with anything like
that dramatic liveliness of manner. To the same popu-
larity were also in later years committed, such half-
satirical, half-serious books, as the Political History of the
Devil; of which, strong plain sense, and a desire to
recommend, by liveliness of treatment, the most homely
and straightforward modes of looking into moral and reli-
gious questions, were again the distinguishing charac-
teristics. Other works of miscellaneous interest will be
found recited in the careful catalogue of De Foe's \vritings
144 PICTURES OF MIDDLE CLASS LIFE. \_Daniel
(upwards of two hundred in all) compiled by Mr. Walter
"Wilson. The most remarkable of these was probably the
Complete English Tradesmany in which you see distinctly
reflected many of the most solid and striking points of
De Foe's own character ; and, let us add, of the general
character of our middle-class countrymen. The plays of
Heywood, Massinger, and Ben Jonson, do not give us the
citizens of their time more vividly, nor 'better contrast the
staidness and the follies of old and of young, than De Foe
has here accomplished for the traders of William and
Anne. We are surprised to be told that this book was
less popular than others of its class ; but perhaps a certain
surly vein of satire which was in it, was the reason. A
book which tends, however justly, to satirize any com-
munity iu general, readers included, is dangerous to its
author's popularity, however the public may like satire in
particular, or when aimed at special classes. Our hasty
summary would be incomplete, without a reference to his
many publications on points of domestic economy, and on
questions of homely, domestic morals ; to his occasional
satires in verse ; or to a timely and powerful series of
strictures on London Life, in which he earnestly sug-
gested the necessity of a Metropolitan University, of a
.FoundHng Hospital, and of a well- organised system of
'Police. He also again attacked the stage, on the success
of the Beggar 8 Opera ; and here, confusing a little the
prose and poetry of the matter, made that excellent piece
responsible for a coarse drama on the subject of the re-
cently hanged Jack Sheppard.* In this discussion he
^ *' Our rogues," he says, "are '* dency than the former: for in
" grown more wicked than ever ; *' this. Jack Sheppard is made the
"and vice of all kinds is so much "head of the drama, and runs
*' winked at, that robbery is ac- " through such a scene of riot and
' ' counted a pretty crime. We take * ' success, that but too many weak
' ' pains to puff them up in their vii'- ' ' minds have been drawn away ;
" lainy ; and there is one set out in "and many unwary persons so
" so amiable a light in the ^cf/^ar's "charmed with his appearance on
' ' Opera, it has taught them to * * the stage, dressed in that elegant
" value themselves on their profes- "manner, and his pockets so well
" sion, rather than to be ashamed " lined, they have forthwith com-
" of it. Not content with the mis- " menced street-robbers or house-
" chief done by the ^e^.7ar's 0/)era, " breakei's ; so that every idle fel-
** we must have a Quaker's Opera " low, weary of honest labour, need
" forsooth, of much more evil ten- " but fancy himself a Macheath or
De Foe.l^ series of works of fiction. 145
again encountered his old enemy, now the Dean of St.
Patrick's; and, moving the spleen of Swift's dearest
friend, got himself niched in the Dimciad. But the as-
sailant lived to regret it more than the assailed, and to
confess to his friend Spence, that, out of aU the countless
works written hy " restless Daniel," there was not one
that did not contain some good, — in other words, that did
not brand reproach on the man who had stigmatised their
author as a dunce.
Meanwhile, concurrently with these works, there had
appeared a more memorable series from the same untiring
hand. In 1719, being then in his fifty-eighth year, he
had given Rohinson Crusoe to the world ; but not until he
had first wearily gone the round of all the trade, and at
last, with enormous difficulty, had found a purchaser and
publisher. Paternoster Pow is not bound to find out the
value of genius, until it begins to sell. With Rohinson
Crusoe's successors there was less difficulty. In 1720 he
had published the Life and Piracies of Captain Singleton;
the Dumb Philosopher ; and Duncan Camphell. In 1721,
the Fortunes and Misfortunes of Moll Flanders. In 1722,
the Life and Adventures of Colonel Jack; and the Journal
of the Plague Year. In 1723, the Memoirs of a Cavalien,
In 1724, Roxana. In 1725, the New Voyage round the ,
World. And in 1728, the Life of Captain C^mMojh. He SW^j^U
was at work upon a new production at the close of 1729,
as we shall shortly see, and apologises to his printer for
having delayed the proofs through " exceeding illness."
It never appeared.
Of Rohinson Crusoe it is needless to speak. Was there
ever any thing written by mere man but this, asked Doctor
Johnson, that was wished longer by its readers ? It is a
" a Sheppard, and there's a rogue "pattern." Gay sneered at De Foe,
** at once." It is rather curious as a fellow who had excellent natural
that in the same pamphlet De Foe parts, but wanted a small founda-
makes a concession we would hardly tion of learning ; and as a lively
have expected from his earlier op- instance of those wits who, as an
position to all stage performances. ingenious author says, "will endure
" Since example has so much force," " but one skimming : " with which
he says, "the stage should exhibit sneer the judicious reader may pro-
" nothing but what might be repre- bably be disposed to connect the
" sented before a bishop. They may passage just quoted from De Foe
" be merry and wise ; let them about Gay's masterpiece.
" take the Provoked Husband for a
146
ROBINSON CRUSOE.
[Daniel
standard piece in every European language; its popu-
larity has extended to every civilized nation. The tra-
veller Burckhardt found it translated into Arabic, and
heard it read aloud among the wandering tribes in the
cool hours of evening. It is devoured by every boy; and,
as long as a boy remains in the world, he will' clamour
for Robinson Crusoe. It sinks into the bosom while the
bosom is most capable of pleasurable impressions from
the adventurous and the marvellous ; and no human work,
we honestly believe, has afforded such great delight.
Neither the Iliad nor the Odyssey, in the much longer
course of ages, has incited so many to enterprise, or to
reHance on their own powers and capacities. It is the
romance of solitude and self-sustainment ; and could only
so perfectly have been written by a man whose own life *
^ That De Foe in some sort intend-
ed the adventures, even of the first
part of Eobinson Crusoe, as a kind of
type of what the dangers and vicissi-
tudes and surprising escapes of his
own life had been, appears to be con-
fessed in his Crusoe's Serious Reflec-
tions. Towards the close of that book
l^is unmistakeable passage occurs : —
" Had the common way of writing
" a man's history been taken, and
" I had given you the conduct or
*' life of a man you knew, and
" whose misfortunes and infirmi-
*' ties perhaps you had sometimes
" unjustly triumphed over, all I
*' could have said would have
" yielded no diversion, and perhaps
" scarce have obtained a reading,
"or at best no attention ; the
" teacher, like a greater, having
" no honour in his own country."
But more explicit and remarkable
still, is the preface to this same
work, in which, speaking of the
objection that had been urged
against the former volumes oi Robin-
son Crusoe as wholly fictitious, he
adds that " the story, though alle-
*' gorical, is also historical. It is
"the beautiful representation of a
' ' life of unexampled misfoi-tunes,
" and of a variety not to be met
** with in the world. Farther,
" there is a man alive, and well
" known too, the actions of whose
" life are the subject of these vol-
" umes, and to whom all or most
_ * ' part of the story most directly
'"alludes." He then recounts a
number of particulars necessary
for the purposes of his narrative ;
and says: "The adventures of
"Robinson Crusoe are one whole
" scene of real life of eight-and-
" twenty years, spent in the most
"wandering, desolate, and afflict-
' ' ing circumstances that ever a man
" went through ; and in which I
' ' have lived so long a life of won-
" ders, in continual storms ; fought
" with the worst kind of savages
" and man-eaters, by unaccountable
"surprising incidents; fed by
" miracles greater than that of
" raveng ; suffered all manner of
" violences and oppressions, inju-
" rious reproaches, contempt of
" men, attacks of devils, corrections
" from heaven, and oppositions on
" earth ; have had innumerable ups
" and downs in matters of fortune,
" been in worse slavery than Turk-
' ' ish, escaped by as exquisite man-
" agement as that in the story of
" Xury and the boat of Salee, been
" taken up at sea in distress, raised
" again and depressed again, and
" that oftener perhaps in one man's
' ' life than ever was known before ;
De Foe.'j art of natural story-telling. 147
had for the most part been passed in the independence of
unaided thought, accustomed to great reverses, of inex-
haustible resource in confronting calamities, leaning ever
on his Bible in sober and satisfied belief, and not afraid
at any time to find himself Alone, in communion with
nature and with Gfod. Nor need we here repeat, what
has been said so well by many critics, that the secret of
its fascination is its Reality. The same is to be said, in
a no less degree, of the Mistoty of the Plague; which, for
the grandeur of the theme and the profoundly afi'ecting
familiarity of its treatment, for the thrilling and homely
touches which paint at once the moral and the physical
terrors of a pestilence, is one of the noblest prose epics
of the language. These are the masterpieces of De Foe.
These are the works wherein his power is at the highest,
and which place him not less among the practical benefac-
tors than among the great writers of our race. " Why, this
" man could have founded a colony as well as governed it,"
said a statesman of the succeeding century, amazed at the
knowledge of various kinds, and at the intimate acquaint-
ance with all useful arts, displayed in Robinson Crusoe. Nor,
within the more limited range they occupy, is power less
manifest in his other fictions. While undoubtedly open
to objections on a different score, the Moll Flanders, the
Colonel Jack, . and the Roxana, are not less decisive
examples of a wonderful genius. In their day, too, they
had no unwise or hurtful efi'ect ; for certainly they had a
tendency to produce a more indulgent morality, and
larger fair play to bad and good. That we question the
wisdom of now reviving them as they were written, we
will frankly confess ; but, as models of fictitious narrative,
in common with all the writings of De Foe they are
supreme. The art of natural story-telling, which can
discard every resort to mere writing or reflection, and rest
solely on what people, in peculiar situations, say and do,
just as if there were no reader to hear all about it, has
had no such astonishing illustrations. High authorities
have indeed thought them entitled to still higher dignity.
"ship-wrecked often, though more "allusion to a real story, and
" by land than by sea ; — in a word, " chimes part for part, and step for
*' there is not a circumstance in the ** step, with the inimitable life of
" imaginary story but has its just *' Robinson Crusoe.".
/V
^*^ OF THE^^^!)^
148 FATHER OF THE ENGLISH NOVEL. [Daniel
Some one asked Doctor E/obertson to advise him as to a
good historical style. " Eead De Foe," replied the great
historian. Colonel Jack's life has been commonly re-
printed in the genuine accounts of highwaymen; Lord
Chatham thought the Cavalier a real person, and his
description of the civil wars the best in the language ;
Doctor Mead quoted the book upon the Plague as the
. ^ . narrative of an eyewitness ; and Doctor Johnson sat up all
' ^' ' " night over Captain ^nrl fttny) ^c^ tti p-m oi rs, as a new work of
t^h '"^^^ English history he wondered not to have seen before. In
- ^tiUL particular scenes, too, of the three tales we are more
' immediately considering (those of the prison in Moll
Flanders, of Susannah in Roxana, and of the boyhood in
Colonel Jack), the highest masters of prose, fiction have
never surpassed them either in power or in pathos, in the
subtle portraiture of humanity or in a profound acquaint-
ance with life. But it will remain the chief distinction
of De Foe to have been, in these minor tales of English
scenes and manners, the father of the illustrious family
of the English Novel. Swift directly copied from him ;
Richardson founded his style of minute narrative wholly
upon him ; Fielding, Smollett, Sterne, and Goldsmith, —
Godwin, Scott, Bulwer, and Dickens, — have been more or
less indebted to him. Shall we scruple to add, then, that
' while he remains unapproached in his two great master-
pieces, he has been surpassed in his minor works by these
his successors? His language is as easy and copious,
but less elegant and harmonious; his insight into cha-
racter is as penetrating, but not so penetrating into the
heart ; his wit and irony are as playful, but his humour
is less genial and expansive ; and he wants the delicate
fancy, the richness of imagery, the sympathy, the truth,
and depth of feeling, which will keep the later Masters of
our English Novel the delightful companions, the gentle
monitors, the welcome instructors, of future generations.
So true it is, that every great writer promotes the next
great writer one step; and in some cases gets himself
superseded by him.
While his gigantic labours were in progress, De Foe
seems to have lived almost wholly at his favourite New-
ington. His writings had been profitable. He got little
for Rohimon Crusoe, but was paid largely for its successors.
De Foe.'\ living at newington.
149
We have occasional glimpses of him still engaged in mer-
cantile speculation ; purchasing and assigning leases ;
disposing of South Sea stock ; and otherwise attending to
worldly affairs. But we do not see him steadily till 1724 ;
and our manner of seeing him then, heing peculiar and
characteristic, will bear somewhat of detailed relation.
A young gentleman named Baker, known in later years
as a somewhat celebrated philosophical inquirer, a writer
on the microscope, and principal founder of the Society of
Arts, introduces the great author to us at this time. En-
gaged at the outset of his life as a tutor in two families,
Mr. Henry Baker divided each week between Enfield and
Newington ; and, as he informs us in the MS.' narrative
from which we derive these facts, " at both places I soon
"became acquainted with all the people of fashion ; " when
suddenly, at one of the fashionable abodes in this sub-
urban world, he tumbled over head and ears in love with
a charmingly pretty girl, the youngest of three daughters
who lived in a large and handsome house in Church-
street, which their father had newly-built.* The father
* This manuscript, in the hand-
writing of Mr. Baker himself, exactly
as left by him, is now in my pos-
session. Only a few lines from it
were quoted by Mr. Wilson in his
biography of De Foe. [I860.]
2 The fact of his having newly
built it has been doubted, but his
son-in-law's authority ought to be
accepted on this point. He certainly
did not occupy it till shortly before
the time mentioned. It is still
standing. It is the one which was
occupied by the late Mr. William
Frend, of the Rock life-office, and
which his widow continued to oc-
cupy. It is on the south side of
Church-street, a little to the east of
Lordship-lane or road, and has
about four acres of ground attached,
bounded on the west by a narrow
footway, once (if not still) called
Cut-throat-lane. Or it may be
identified thus : take the map of
Stoke Newington in Robinson's
history of that place, London,
1820, 8vo, and look directly below
the first "e" in Church-street.
Among the papers by which the
house is held, is the copy of the
enrolment of a surrender to the
lord of the manor dated February
26, 1740, in which the house is
described as " heretofore in the
"tenure or occupation of Daniel
" Defoe.'' Dr. Price lived for some
years in it, as the domestic chaplain
of a subsequent owner. These facts
I derive from the very useful, well-
informed, and well-conducted Notes
and Queries, iv. 299-300. A
whimsical proof was given, not long
ago, of the interest with which the
name of De Foe still surrounds this
unpicturesque house in an unpoeti-
cal locality. Whimsical I call it,
but it is also very honourable to the
pilgrims from over distant seas who
figure in it, and who display such
enthusiasm for the memory of the
great writer and popular advocate,
in whom they have a common pro-
perty with ourselves. The anec-
dote was originally told me by my old
friend. Sir James Emerson Tennent,
who kindly re-tells it here at my
160 A FAMILY PICTURE. [Daniel
was an old gentleman of sixty-four years, afflicted with
gout and stone, but very cheerful, still very active, with
mental faculties in sharp abundance, keeping a handsome
coach, paying away much money in acts of charity, and
greatly given to the cultivation of a large and pleasant
garden. This was Daniel De Foe.
As Mr. Baker's manuscript narrative of these scenes
of his youth is before us, we will transcribe one or two
brief passages. " Amongst the first who desired his ac-
" quaintance at JN'ewington was Mr. D , a gentleman
" well known by his writings, who had newly built there
" a very handsome house, as a retirement from London,
" and amused his time either in the cultivation of a large
" and pleasant garden, or in the pursuit of his studies,
" which he found means of making very profitable. He
" was now at least sixty years of age, afflicted with the
" gout and stone, but retained all his mental faculties
" entire. Mr. B readily accepted his invitation, and was
" so pleased vdth his conversation, that he seldom came
*' to Newington without paying a visit to Mr. D , and
" met usually at the tea-table his three lovely daughters,
" who were admired for their beauty, their education,
" and their prudent conduct. And if sometimes Mr.
" D 's disorders made company inconvenient, Mr. B
" was entertained by them either singly or together, and
request. *' The incident of wMch ** pelled by their respect for the
*' you remind me, in connexion with " name of his illustrious predeces-
" the^nemory of De Foe, was this. " sor in it, to beg that they might
" A friend of mine lately told me "be permitted to spend a little
*' that the gentleman residing in De " time in the dwelling-place of so
** Foe's house at Newington, about '* eminent a man. Assent was
* ' two years back, was one forenoon * ' readily given ; whereupon they
' ' surprised by a visit from a party ' * said that already they had ven-
*' of Americans, who drove to his ** tured to anticipate that, by bring-
*' door in a hired carriage. They "ing a pic-nic hamper in their
" drew up in front, knocked, and " carriage — and their satisfaction
"requested to see the proprietor. " was complete on permission being
"On making bis appearance, the " granted to carry it into the garden,
" spokesman said he presumed they *' where the explosion of cork, and
" were right in supposing that this "other corresponding symptoms,
" was the house of Daniel De Foe ? " speedily gave evidence of the sin-
* ' — And being assured of the fact, * * cerity with which they had made
" he went on to say that he and his " this very matter-of-fact pilgrimage
" companions, from the new coun- " to the home of the great novelist
" try, had waited on him as the " and patriot."
" occupant of that mansion, im-
De Foe.'\ proposal for his You^^GEST daughter. 151
'' that commonly in tlie garden when the weather was
" favourable." AYith what follows, the reader need not
be troubled. But with prospects of unequalled bliss came
also trouble to Mr. Baker. Slave as he was become to
the tender passion, he had a sober reflective turn of mind.
" He knew nothing of Mr. D — 's circumstances, only
" imagined from his very genteel way of living that he
" must be able to give his daughter a decent portion."
Mr. D — was accordingly spoken to as soon as hope was
received of the young lady's approval. The young lady
herself indeed made his consent the first condition of her
own ; and, even more than the " genteel way of living "
in this grave and good dissenter's household, we are
pleased and arrested by the picture presented to us of a
kindly controul, and affectionate yet prudent discipline, in
the father and chief disposer of the house.
The first thought of parting with his youngest daughter
sorely troubled De Foe. He called her the dearest jewel
he possessed, and by other playful and loving names. But
then he spoke of his own age and infirmities, and how
precarious his life was become, and finally, with touching
reiteration that Mr. Baker must ^' use her kindly," per-
mitted him to urge his suit. He should not take her, he
added, like a charity girl, with nothing. She should have,
even during her father's life, at least five hundred pounds ;
and Mr. Baker (who had already managed to save a
thousand pounds out of his employment) must add the
same sum, to be settled and set apart to her use in case
of accident. " I wish I could promise more," said the
old man, " but what she wants in money, I hope she will
" make up in goodness ; and if she proves as good a wife
" as she has been a child, her husband will be a happy
" man."
Mr. Baker's suit prospered, but not with such unin-
terrupted smoothness as to invalidate the poet's rule.
After some Little time he preferred a request to De Foe
" to order proper settlements to be drawn up in the
" manner he had proposed ; when his answer was, that
"formal articles he thought unnecessary; that he could
" confide in the honour of Mr. B ; that when they talked
" before, he did not know the true state of his own affairs ;
" that on due consideration he found he could not part
152 DISPUTE OVER MARRIAGE SETTLEMENTS. [Daniel
" witli any money in present, but at his death his daughter
" Sophy's share would be more than he had promised."
Bemembering the hard struggle of the great writer's life,
the old claims from mercantile adventure which hung over
him still unsatisfied, and the difl&culties of protecting the
property in literature which more lately he had acquired,
there was nothing in what he is thus reported to have
said that should have raised a suspicion of his good faith.
The result too early and sadly showed that he had
indeed been sanguine in his first estimate, and that
he had not remembered correctly the state of his aff'airs.
But, to Mr. Baker, nothing was visible or admissible
but his own disappointment ; and in remonstrance
and complaint thereon he was eager and persistent.
" Sir," interrupted De Foe at last, " if you will take
" my daughter, you must take her as I can give her."
" Never was father so indulgent as he has been to me ! "
cried Sophy De Foe through her tears, when her too
prudent wooer related his disappointment that evening
in the garden.
" This was the beginning," says Mr. Baker, " of that
" long uneasiness they both suffered," and which carried
with it the moral, that a young gentleman may err even in
excess of prudence. " Several proposals," he adds, " were
*' made at different times by Mr. D — and Mr. B for ac-
" commodating this matter ; but each new proposal only
" occasioned new perplexity : for, when everything seemed
" agreed on, Mr. D — would give no security but his single
" bond for the due performance of articles, tho' he had an
" estate in Essex, and a new-built house at Newington,
*' either of which would have been a satisfactory security ;
" but he pretended these were already settled for family
" purposes, which he could not break through. At length,
'' however, after almost two years, Mr. D — consented to
" engage his house at Newington as a security ; and,
" articles being accordingly executed, the marriage was
" celebrated April 30, 1729."
If the opening date given by Mr. Baker is correct, the
courtship of the young philosopher had lasted nearly five
years. But not the least pointed touches occurred at its
close, and Mr. Baker's modesty has omitted them. When
all had been arranged, and the bond only waited to be
De Foe,~\ letter on parting with his daughter. 153
signed/ tlie thrifty young gentleman insisted that it
should bear interest at five per cent, whereas De Foe had
special family reasons for limiting it to four ; and eight
more months appear to have passed before this new diffi-
culty vanished. The authority for so appropriate a sequel
to Mr. Baker's narrative, which otherwise it strikingly
confirms, is a letter by De Foe himself, here for the first
time published ;' fuU of character ; and, of the very few of
his private letters that have been preserved to us, decidedly
the most agreeable in its tone and turns of expression.
It is written in a firm strong hand, and is addressed to
Mr. Henry Baker. De Foe was now in his sixty-eighth
year ; it is the last picture of the great author which we
shall be able to contemplate without sorrow ; and we may
perhaps account it as no small gain that a long life of so
much struggle and vicissitude, should have left so far un-
impaired the manifest spirit of domestic enjoyment and
quiet thankfulness, which shines through a letter written
so near its close.
Sir, — I am sorry there should be any manner of room
for an objection when we are so near a conclusion of an
aff'air like this. I should be very uneasie, when I give
you a gift I so much value (and I hope I do not overrate
her neither), there should be any reserve among us that
should leave the least room for unkindness, or so much as
thinking of unkindness^no, nor so much as of the word.
But there is a family reason why I am tyed down to
the words of four per cent, and I can not think Mr.
Baker should dispute so small a matter with me after I
tell him so, (viz.) that I am so tyed down. I can, I be-
lieve, many ways make him up the little sum of five
pound a-year ; and when I tell you thus under my hand,
that I shall think myself obliged to do it durante vita, I
shall add that I shall think myself more obliged to do so,
than if you had it under hand and seal.
But, if you are not willing to trust me on my parole, for
^ A facsimile of De Foe's signature Magazine, Vol. 82, part i, p. 529.
to this bond (dated 5th April, 1729) ^ pj-Q^ ^\^q original, now in my
described as " for payment of £500 possession. It had been given by
" marriage portion of Sophia De Foe Mr. Baker's great great grandson
** to Mr. Henry Baker of Enfield," to the late Mr. Dawson Turner,
was published in the Gentleman's [I860.]
154 ^HIS DEAREST AND BEST-BELOVED. [Daniel
SO small a sum, and tliat according to tlie Great Treatys
abroad, there must be a secret article in our Negotiations
— I say if it must be so, I would fain put myself in a
condition to deny you nothing, which you can ask, beHev-
ing you will ask nothing of me which I ought to deny.
When you speak of a child's Fortmie, which I own
you do very modestly, you must give me leave to say only
this, you must accept of this in bar of any claim from the
City Customes ; and I doubt you will have but too much
reason, seeing I can hardly hope to do equally for all the
rest, as I shall for my dear Sophie. But after that, you
shall onely allow me to say, and that you shall depend
upon, whatever it shall please God to bless me with, none
shall have a deeper share in it. And you need do no
more than remember, that she is, ever was, and ever will
be, my Dearest and Best Beloved. And let me add again,
I hope you will take it for a mark of my singular and
affectionate concern for you, that I thus give her you, and
that I say too. If I could give her much more, it should
be to you, with the same affection.
Yours without flattery,
August intky 1728. "^^ ^ *
We have said that here was the last clear glimpse of
De Foe that we should get without grief and pain. But it
is not so. There is one other before the final shadow
falls. Homely but hearty are the words in which a certain
honest old Thomas Webb, after telling us what he had
suffered by the death of his wife, goes on to tell us who it
was that comforted and consoled him. " And poor dis-
" tressed I, left alone, and no one to go and speak to,
" save only Mr. Deffoe, who hath acted a noble and
" generous part towards me and my poor children. The
" Lord reward him and his with the blessings of upper
*' and nether spring, with the blessings of his basket and
" store,'' &c.
Alas ! the basket and store of De Foe were not much
oftener to be replenished on this side the grave. Eight
months after his letter about his daughter's marriage, the
marriage took place, and the next glimpse we get of him
reveals a sad change. It is a letter to his printer, Mr. J.
Watts, in Wild-court, and even in its signature the bold
De Foe.^ correcting his last proofs. 155
upright hand is broken down. He is grieved to have de-
tained the proofs, but he has been exceeding ill. He has
revised his manuscript again, and contracted it very much,
and he hopes to bring it within the bulk the printer
desires. He now sends him back the first sheet, with as
much copy as wdll make near three sheets more ; and he
shall have all the remainder, so as not to let him stand
still at all. He greatly regrets the number of alterations
made in the pages he returns, and fears the corrections
will cost as much as perhaps setting the whole over again
would be ; but he will endeavour to send the rest of the
copy so well corrected as to give very little trouble. —
Whether or not he succeeded in that endeavour, cannot
now be told ; for there is no evidence that any more than
that single sheet was ever printed.' It must be enough
for us that such was his hope and his intention, and that
even such, to the very last, according to this most cha-
racteristic letter, were the labours, the anxieties, and the
ill-rewarded toil, which followed this great English author
up to the very verge of the grave.
There is but one more letter of his preserved. Its date
is a year later ; and from this letter, also addressed to his
son-in-law Baker,' and which is one of the most affecting
^ The original manuscript never- ' ' ' from posterity but a name.
theless exists, and was lately sold ' ' ' Look at Daniel De Foe ; recol-
to a private purchaser at the sale of " ' lect him pilloried, bankrupt,
Mr. Dawson Turner of Great Yar- ** ' wearing away his life to pay
mouth, for sixty-nine pounds. The " 'his creditors in full, and dying
British Museum had not the courage "'in the struggle! — and his
to go beyond thirty-five. Its title is " ' works live, imitated, corrupted,
The Complete Gentleman. [I860.] " ' yet casting off their stains,
* The eldest son of this marriage, ' ' ' not by protection of law, but
David Erskine Baker, so named " ' by their own pure essence,
after his godfather, Lord Buchan, " ' Had every schoolboy whose
wrote the Biographia Dramatica, " ' young imagination has been
or Companion to the Playhouse. " * prompted by his great work,
What follows I transcribe from a " * and whose heart has learned to
note in the second edition of my " ' throb in the strange yet familiar
Life of Goldsmith. "Pleading the " 'solitude he created, given even
' case of authors, and their title ' ' ' the half-penny of the statute of
' to a longer protection of their " * Anne, there would have been
* copyright, Mr. Serjeant Talfoiird " ' no want of a provision for his
' employed this affecting illustra- " * children, no need of a subscrip-
' tion. ' A man of genius and in- " ' tion fora statue to his memory ! '
' ' tegrity, who has received all "As I transcribe these eloquent
* ' insult and injury from his con- " words (January, 1854), I become
* * temporaries, obtains nothing " acquainted with the most strik-
156
TREACHERY OF A SON.
[Daniel
that the English, language contains, we learn that far be-
yond poverty, or printers, or booksellers, or any of the
manifold ills of authorship, the conduct of De Foe's second
son was embittering the closing hours of his long and
checkered life. The precise story is difficult to unravel ;
' ' ing practical comment which it
*' would be possible for them to
" receive, in the fact that there is
" now living in Kennington, in
" deep though tmcom plaining pov-
** erty, James De Foe, aged 77,
* ' the great grandson of the author
*' of Robinson Crusoe." — Life and
Times of Goldsmith, vol. ii. p. 482.
The sequel to this note remains
(March, 1858) to be given. Upon
reading it, Mr. Landor addressed
to the Times a noble eulogy on De
Foe, calling upon every schoolboy,
and every man in England who had
been one, to give his penny at once
to save the descendant he had left
— "a Crusoe without a Friday, in
' ' an island to him a desert." I sub-
join the close of this striking appeal.
" Let our novelists, now the
" glory of our literature, remember
" their elder brother Daniel, and
" calculate (if, indeed, the debt is
" calculable) what they owe him.
" Let our historians ask them-
* ' selves if no tribute is due, in long
*' arrear, to the representative of
*' him who wrote the History of the
** Plague in London. What ought
"to live will live, what ought to
*' perish will perish. Marble is
" but a wretched prop at best.
" Defoe wants no statue, and is
*' far beyond all other want.
*'Alas! there is one behind who
" is not so. Let all contribute
*' one penny for one year; poor
" James has lived seventy-seven,
*' and his dim eyes can not look
' * far into another.
" Persuade, Sir, for you can
"more powerfully than any, the
" rich, the industrious, the studi-
" ous, to purchase a large store of
" perdurable happiness for them-
" selves by the smallest sum of a
" day's expendituie. The author
" of that book which has imparted
" to most of them the greatest de-
* * light of any, was also the earliest
* ' teacher of political economy, the
" first propouuder of free trade.
" He planted that tree, which,
" stationary and stunted for nearly
"two centuries, is now spreading
"its shadow by degrees over all
"the earth. He was the most far-
" sighted of our statesmen, and the
" most worthily trusted by the
" wisest of our kings. He stood
" up for the liberty of the press ;
" let the press be grateful.
" It was in the power of Johnson
" to relieve the granddaughter of
' * Milton : Sir, it is in yours to
" prop up the last scion of Defoe.
" If Milton wrote the grandest
" poem, and the most energetic
" and eloquent prose, of any
"writer in any country; if he
" stood erect before Tyranny, and
" covered with his buckler, not
" England only, but nascent na-
" tions ; if our great prophet raised
" in vision the ladder that rose
" from earth to heaven, with angels
* ' upon every step of it ; lower,
" indeed, but not less useful, were
' ' the energies of Defoe. He stimu-
" lated to enterprise those colonies
" of England which extend over
* ' every sea, and which carry with
" them, from him, the spirit and
* ' the language that will predomi-
" nate throughout the world.
" Achilles and Homer will be for-
" gotten before Crusoe and Defoe."
To this most striking letter suc-
ceeded one by Mr. Charles Knight,
from whom the information as to
James De Foe originally reached
me, and who had already, with
his characteristic zeal in every good
work, opened in conjunction with
Mr. Dickens a subscription. Mr.
De Foe.~\ last melancholy letter. 157
— but what lie had hinted to Mr. Baker, and that too
cautious and wary gentleman had been so slow to believe,
of the uncertain condition of his fortune and estate, had
come unexpectedly and fatally true. One of his old credi-
tors, " a wicked, perjur'd, and contemptible enemy," had
struck him suddenly with so heavy a hand, that, to avoid
utter shipwreck of everything, he had been fain to make
over what he possessed to his son in trust for the joint
benefit of his two unmarried daughters and their mother ;
and now this trust the son had betrayed, had converted all
to his own use, and had reduced his mother and sisters to
beggary. " Nothing but this has conquered or could con-
" quer me. Et tu I Brute. I depended upon him, I trusted
** him, I gave up my two dear unprovided children into his
" hands ; but he has no compassion, and sufiers them and
" their poor dying mother to beg their bread at his door,
'* and to crave, as if it were an alms, what he is bound under
" hand and seal, besides the most sacred promises, to sup-
" ply them with : himself, at the same time, living in a
*' profusion of plenty. It is too much for me. Excuse
" my infirmity ; I can say no more, my heart is too full.
" I only ask one thing of you as a dying request. Stand
" by them when I am gone, and let them not be wronged,
" while he is able to do them right. Stand by them as a
" brother ; and if you have any thing within you owing
" to my memory, who have bestow'd on you the best gift
" I had to give, let them not be injured and trampled on
" by false 'pretences, and unnatural reflections. I hope
" they will want no help but that of comfort and council ;
" but that, they will indeed want, being too easy to be
" managed by words and promises."
Even thus De Foe writes, from a place near Greenwich,
where he seems to have been some time wandering about,
Landor's letter brought immediate have heen collected, but more was
and large additions to it, and enough not wanted. James De Foe died on
was obtained for the purpose de- the 19th of May, 1857. After pay-
sired. From the close of January, ment of all expenses incident to his
1854, to the middle of May, 1857, illness and death, a very small ba-
nearly 200Z. was paid, in small lance was handed to his daughters ;
sums, to the worthy old man ; and an account of the monies col-
whose needs were in this way better lected and distributed was then cir-
satisfied, than if the money in any culated among the subscribers, in
larger amount had been placed at so far as it was prissible to reach
his disposal. Aluch more might them, by Mr. Knight and myself.
158 DEATH. [Daniel De Foe.
alone, in want, and with, a broken heart. The letter, as we
have said, is to his son-in-law, Baker ; possessor of his
" best gift," his dear daughter, his dearest Sophia, whom if
he could but meet again, " without giving her the grief of
" seeing her father in tenebris, and under the load of insup-
" portable sorrows," even those griefs might be more
supportable ! It closes thus :^ " I would say, I hope with
" comfort, that it is yet well I am so near my journey's end,
*' and am hastening to the place where the weary are at
" rest, and where the wicked cease to trouble. Be it that
" the passage is rough, and the day stormy, by what way
" soever He please to bring me to the end of it, I desire to
" finish life with this temper and soul in all cases — Te
" Deiim laudamus. May all you do be prosperous, and all
" you meet with pleasant, and may you both escape the
" tortures and troubles of uneasy life ! It adds to my
" grief that I must never see the pledge of your mutual
" love, my little grandson. Give him my blessing, and
" may he be, to you both, your joy in youth, and your
" comfort in age, and never add a sigh to your sorrow.
" Kiss my dear Sophy once more for me ; and, if I must
" see her no more, tell her this is from a father that loved
" her above all his comforts, to his last breath."
The money was recovered, and the family again pros-
perous ; but Daniel De Foe was gone. In his seventy-
first year, on the 24th of April 1731, he had somehow
found his way back to London — ^to die in that parish of
St. Giles's, Cripplegate,'^ wherein he was borri ; and, as
long as the famous old city should live, to live in the
memory and admiration of her citizens. ,
^ It is only just to Mr, Baker to place of De Foe's death was not
add that he seems, shortly before known to Mr. Walter Wilson. It
its date, to have written a "very took- place in Kopemakers'-alley,
kind and affectionate letter " to his Moorfields. Of this fact there can
father-in-law, who takes occasion be no reasonable doubt, it being
in the midst of his trouble to speak, so stated in the Daily Courant of
with characteristic felicity of phrase, the day following his death. Rope-
of his "kind manner and hinder makers' -alley no longer exists, but
*' thought from which it flows.'" it stood about opposite to where the
2 Cromwell was married there, London Institution now stands.
and Milton buried. The precise
SIE EICHARD STEELE.'
1675—1729.
On the Life and Writings of Addison. By Thomas BABiKaiON Maoaulat.
London, 1852.
Steele and Addison are among the first ghosts met by-
Fielding in his delightful Journey from this World to the
next. A remark from the spirit of Yirgil having a little
disconcerted the bashful Joseph, he has turned for re-
assurance to the spirit most familiar and best known to
him on earth, when at once Steele heartily embraces him,
and tells him he had been the greatest man up in the
other world, and that he readily resigned all the merit of
his own works to him. In return Addison gives him a
gracious smile, and, clapping him on the back with much
solemnity, cries out, " Well said, Dick." Fielding was
here laughing at the claim set up by Addison's associ-
ates, when they would have struck down his old fellow-
labourer's fame, to add to the glories of his own. What
Steele said so well for his friend, and ill for himself, in
the other world, had already been more than broadly
hinted in this, in Mr. Tickell's celebrated preface.
Nevertheless, Steele's fame survived that back-handed
blow. What the Kving Addison himself foretold came
true ; and, out of party contentions so fierce that no
character escaped them unsullied, side by side, when
those contentions ceased, his friend's and his emerged.'
1 From the (Quarterly Review, March 1855. With additions.
' "Their personal friendship and '* ties they are engaged in be at an
" enmities must cease, and the par- "end, before their faults or their
160 TWO FRIENDS STRUCK ASUNDER. \Sir Richard
Thougli circumstances favoured somewliat tlie one against
the other, there had come to be a corner for both in
almost all men's liking ; and those " little diurnal essays
" which are extant still/' kept also extant, in an equal
and famous companionship, the two foremost Essayists of
England. A more powerful hand than Mr. TickelFs now
strikes them rudely apart. A magnificent eulogy of
Addison is here built upon a most contemptuous depreci-
ation of Steele ; and if we are content to accept without
appeal the judgment of Mr. Macaulay's Essay, there is
one pleasant face the less in our Walhalla of British
"Worthies.
For ourselves we must frankly say Not Content, and
our reasons shall be stated in this article. Not, we dare
say, without partiality ; certainly not without frank and
full allowance for the portion of evil which is inseparable
from all that is good, and for the something of littleness
mixed up with all that is great,;;^n one of his most
charming essays Steele has himself reminded us, that the
word inijKrfection should never carry to the considerate^
man's heart a thought unkinder than the word humanity y
and we shall also think it well to remember, what wiih
not less wisdom on another occasion he remarked, as to
the prodigious difference between the figure the same
person bears in our imagination when we are pleased
with him, from that wherein we behold him when we are
angry.^ Steele we think eminently a man to write or
speak of in the mood of pleasure.
But first let Mr. Macaulay speak of him. Introducing
him as a person only entitled to distinction as one of the
chief members of the small literary coterie to which
Addison was the oracle, and deriving from that fact his
"virtues can have justice done "different parties, will then have
"them. . . I cannot forbear en- "the same body of admirers, and
" tertainiug myself very often with " appear illustrious in the opinions
* ' the idea of an imaginary histo- ' * of the whole British nation. . . .
" rian describing the reign of Anne I, " *It was under this reign,' he will
" and introducing it with a preface "say, 'that the Spectator pub-
" to his readers that he is now en- " 'lished those little diurnal Es-
" tering upon the most shining pai't "'says, which are still extant,'
" of the English story. The several " &c. &c." — Spectator^ lS.o.\^\.
" antagonists who now endeavour ^ Tatlei; No. 246.
" to depreciate one another, and " Theatre, No. 26.
" are celebrated or traduced by
StCele.'\ MACAULAY ON STEELE AND ADDISON. 161
claim to present recognition, lie describes him in general
terms as one of those people whom it is impossible either
to hate or to respect. He admits his temper to have been
sweet, his affections warm, and his spirits lively ; but says
that his passions were so strong, and his principles so
weak, that his life was spent in sinning and repenting, in
inculcating what was right and doing what w^as wron^>
Hence, we are told, though he was a man of piety and
honour in speculation, he was in practice much of the
rake and a little of the swindler ; but, then again, he was
so good-natured, that it^was not easy to be seriously
angry with him ; and^ven rigid moralists felt more
inclined to pity than to blame him, when he diced himself
into a spunging-house, or drank himself into a fever.
Among the rigid moralists here referred to, we must
presume was Mr. Joseph Addison, whose strict abstinence
from drink is so well known ; but the Essayist is care-
ful to add, that the kindness with which that rigid
moralist regarded his friend was "not immingled with
" sconij^
So much the worse for Addison, if that be true ; for
very certainly he succeeded in concealing it from his
friend, and, we imagine indeed, from every one but
Mr. Macaulay. True, no doubt, it is, that so consummate
a master of humour could hardly have had it always under
control ; and that the most intimate of his associates
would not be spared the pleasant laugh which was raised
in turn against all. But Pope, from whom we derive the
fact that he would now and then " play a little '^ on the
extraordinary regard which Steele evinced for him, also
informs us how weU it was always taken ; and, that any-
thing of contempt ' ever passed from one to the other, is
most assui-edly not to be inferred from any published
record.' The first characteristic thing which Pope noted in
Addison, that he was always for moderation in parties,
and used to blame his dear friend Steele for being too
much of a party-man, marks the source of whatever dis-
agreement they had ; and he who, on that very ground
of party, lavished upon Steele the most unsparing and
unscrupulous abuse, and whose old intimacy with both
friends had opened to him the secrets of their most
familiar hours, never thought of using against him such
162 EVIDENCE OF JONATHAN SWIFT. [tS'/V Richavd
a formidable weapon as lie would have found in Addi-
son/s contempt//
■"^' Swift calls Steele a thoughtless fellow, satirises his
submission to his wife, and says he was never good
company till he had got a bottle of wine in his head ; ^
he twits him with his debts, and flings a bailiff at him in
every other paragraph, through some scores of page^jf^ he
avers that he cannot write grammar ; ^ nay, he descends
so low (but this through the fouler mouth of one of the
professional libellers of the day) as even coarsely to laugh
at his short face, little flat nose, broad back, and thick
legs ; " and yet he empties inefiectively all those vials of
his o\vn scorn, without one allusion to that other which
he knew would have gone, with a deadly venom, straight
to the heart of his victim. '''Before their final rupture, he
had to answer Steele's reproach that he had spoken of him
as " bridled by Addison," and he does this with a denial
that frankly admits Steele's right to be jealous of the
imputatioru^ Throughout his intimate speech to Stella,
whether fiis humour be sarcastic or polite, the friend-
ship of Steele and Addison is for ever suggesting some
annoyance to himself, some mortification, some regret ;
but never once the doubt that it was not intimate and
sincere, or that into it entered anything inconsistent with
a perfect equality. "When he wishes to serve the one,
and is annoyed that the other receives the overture coldly
(22 October, 1710) ; when he suspects the one of prevent-
ing the other's visits to Harley (15th November, 1710) ;
when he treats a service to the one as not less a service
to the other (14th January, 1710-11) ; when he reproaches
the one as ungrateful for what he had done for the
other (15th January, 1710-11); when he calls him-
self a fool for spending his credit in favour of both
(16th March, 1710-11) ; and when he has promised
my Lord Treasurer never again to speak for either
(29th June, 1711) ; he shows you, still, that he is
speaking of an intercourse upheld by the strongest
attachments, and into which, whatever the respective
^ Journal to Stella, Oct. 3, 1710. "* Letter from, Dr. Tripe to Nestor
2 Importance of the Guardian Ironside.
considered. s Letter of Swift to Steele, May
3 Fublic Spirit of the Whigs. 27, 1713.
Steele*^
RELATIONS OE ADDISON AXD STEELE. 163
merits of the men, there could have entered no element
oiJ>' scorn.'' ^
■■^li is quite true, however, that some coldness and
estrangement did grow between Steele and Addison as
time went oti, though to the last it was never so complete
as Mr. Macaulay would wish to convey To this, and its
causes, we shall have to advert hereafter ; but in con-
nection with it we have so express and affecting a state-
ment from Steele himself, only six months after his
friend's death, and in reply to a coarse assailant whom it
silenced, that as to the general fact it leaves no doubt
whatever, /^here never, he says, was a more strict
friendship than between himself and Addison, nor had
they ever any difference but what proceeded from their
different way of pursuing the same thing ; the one waited
and stemmed the torrent, while the other too often
plunged into it ; but, though they thus had lived for some
.^years last past, shunning each other, they still preserved
the most passionate concern for their mutual welfare;
and when they met, " they were as unreserved as boys,
" and talked of the greatest affairs, upon which they saw
" where they differed, without pressing (what they knew
" impossible) to convert each other." ^ As to the sub-
stance or worth of what thus divided them, Steele only
adds the significant expression of his hope that, if his
family is the worse, his country may be the better, for
the mortification he has undergone^
There is something in that. When a man is indiscreet,
it is not beside the matter to inquire what passion it is
that urges him to indiscretion. It may be the actual
good of others, or it may be a fancied good for himself.
Mr. AUworthy did so many kindnesses for so many people,
that he made enemies of the whole parish ; and it wiU
perhaps generally be found that the man who cares least
for his neighbours, is very far from the least likely to pass
for good-natured among them. It will not do to judge
off-hand, even between the impetuosity which plunges
into the torrent, and the placidity which waits upon the
brink. Each temperament has its advantages, within a
narrow or a more extended range ; and, where the passion
1 The Theatre, No. xii, Feb. 9, 1719-20
M 2
164 CONDESCENSIONS OF PRAISE. {_Sir Richavd
for public affairs has been so incorrigible that it refused
to take regard of its own or others' convenience in its
manifestations, we must not too hastily resolve to take
part either against the hostility it provokes, or with the
sympathy it repels. So much, before passing in review
Steele's actual character and story, it will be well to keep
in mind ; though there can be no manner of doubt that
his course, whether in other respects ill or well taken,
put him at grave disadvantage with the world.
Even in regard to this, however, there is no need to
take any special tone of pity; and too much stress has
perhaps been laid on Addison's own regrets in the matter.
It was when the good Mr. Hughes thought he saw an
opportunity, on the sudden cessation of Mr. Steele's
Guardian, to get Mr. Addison's services for a little scheme
of his own ; and, with many flourishes about the regret
with which all the more moderate Whigs saw their com-
mon friend's thoughts turned entirely on politics and dis-
engaged from pursuits more entertaining and profitable,
had propounded his plan for a Register; that Mr. Addison,
foreseeing little glory in working with Mr. Hughes, and
sending a civil No, I thank you, I must now rest and lay
in a little fuel, proceeded, merely upon the hint his corre-
spondent had thrown out, to speak of Steele in language
often quoted, and used against him by Mr. Macaulay.
" In the meantime I should be glad if you would set
" such a project on foot, for I know nobody else capable
" of succeeding in it, and turning it to the good of man-
*' kind, since my friend has laid it down. I am in a
" thousand troubles for poor Dick, and wish that his zeal
" for the public may not be ruinous to himself; but he
" has sent me word that he is determined to go on, and
** that any advice I can give him in this particular will
" have no weight with him." Formerly, as now, these
expressions have been pointed to a sense not exactly
intended by them. Taken with what induced them, and
read as they were written, they are certainly unmingled
with scorn.
There is pity in them, to be sure ; and there is what
Mr. Macaulay calls the " trying with little success to keep
"him out of scrapes;" both which must pass for what
they are worth. There is also the " poor Dick," which
^
Steele.~\ way to "cry" a man down. 1G5
has been so lavishly repeated since ; but, we must take the
liberty to add, with a feeling and for a purpose far less
worthy. -^'It is our belief that no man so much as Steele
has suffered from compassion. It was out of his own bitter
experience that he shrewdly called it, himself, the best
disguise of malice, and said that the most apposite course
to cry a man down was to lament hinj^ Mr. Macaulay is
incapable of malice, even if the motive for it were in such
a case conceivable ; but whatever praise he gives to Steele
is always in the way of condescension, and he cannot bring
himself to state a virtue in him which he does not at the
same time extenuate with its equal vice or drawback.
We much fear there are few characters that would
stand this kind of analysis, — very few in which the
levelling circumstance might not be detected, that more
or less brings down the high, the wise, the strong,
and the fortunate, to the lower level with their fellow-
men.
An ill mending of the matter it would be, indeed, to
extenuate vice itself as a set-off to the extenuation of
virtue ; but both have need of a more considerate reflec-
tion than they are generally apt to receive, in connection
with such a life as we shaU shortly retrace. For not a
few years of that life, we dare say. Captain Steele might
have pleaded, with Captain Plume, that for all his exube-
rance of spirits he was yet very far from the rake the
world imagined. " I have got an air of freedom," says
Farquhar's pleasant hero, " which people mistake in
^ The sketch in which this occurs * * ceremony or taking leave, runs
(No. 4) is of a class of men who *' to the side on which they appear,
(making allowance for special dif- " Hence it is, that he passes all
ferences in themselves) would not " his days under reproach from
be ill represented by De Foe and *' some persons or other ; and he is,
"^teele. It is very difficult, he says, *' at different times, called a rene-
with an obvious tone of self-reference, ' ' gade, a confessor, and a martyr,
to put them down. It is thought " by every party. This happens
enough to shrug your shoulders, " from his sticking to principles,
take snuff, and say something in ' ' and having no respect to persons ;
pity of them. But yet the man you "and it is his inward constancy
so lament, is, after all, too hardy a * ' that makes him vary in outward
creature to be so discountenanced and "appearance. It is therefore un-
undone. "He is never mortified " lucky for those who speak of this
' ' but when truth, honour, and rea- * ' kind of character with ridicule,
" son are against him ; which, as " that all the great who ever lived
" soon as he perceives, he, without " were such."
1G6 VIRTUES AND VICES IN DISGUISE. [^Sir Richavd
" me, just as in others they mistake formality for religion."
It is a kind of mistake committed in many forms ; and
Pope was hinting at it when he remarked, that whereas,
according to La Rochefoucauld, a great many virtues are
disguised ^dces, he would engage, by the same mode of
reasoning, to prove a great many vices to be disguised
virtues. Take the love of ourselves for example, and say
that in it lies the motive of most of our actions, good or
bad ; yet it by no means would follow that the number
are not much greater wherein the self-love of some men
incline them to please others, than where the self-love of
others is employed wholly in pleasing themselves. Steele
had said the same thing several years before in his
Christian Hero, when he remarked that there can really
be no greater love of self than to love others, nor any
more secure way to obtain good offices than to do
them.
Not that any such modes of reasoning may sufficiently
excuse a life spent, if what Mr. Macaulay tells us be true,
in sinning and repenting, in inculcating what was right
and doing what was wrong. A profitless life to himself,
beyond a doubt, if such indeed was Steele's ; but sugges-
tive also of the remark, that, since the wrong that was
done has passed away, and the right that was inculcated
remains, others decidedly may have profited though he
did not. For ourselves, holding with the philosophy
which teaches us that depravity of disposition is less
pardonable than any kind of frailty of passion, we know
of no ofPence against virtue so grave as to speak of it in
disparagement ; and no worse practice in regard to vice
than the systematic praise and recommendation of it.
"With the latter, at least, no one has ever been so reckless,
in our daj* or even in his own, as to charge Richard
Steele. //jIq had a real love and reverence for virtue.
Pope told Spence. He had the best nature in the world,
and was a man of almost boundless benevolence, said
Young. Lady Mary Montagu lived much with all the
wits, and knew no one with the kind nature of Steele. It
is his admitted weakness to have yielded to the temptation
which yet he never lost the strength to condemn ; but we
should remember who has said that, if at all times to do
were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had
Steele."] each man to be judged by himself. 167
been churclies and poor men's cottages princes' palaces^^
Let us add that even Addison himself could not always do
both ; and that, if the strict rule were applied universally,
never to accept unreservedly what is good in a man, and
praise it accordingly, without minute measimng-off of what
may also be condemned for evil, with detraction at least
equal to the praise, there would be altogether an end at
last to all just judgments, and a w^oeful general confusion
of right and wrong. Jh^ Addison had not Steele's de-
fects ; that Steele's defects, graver though they may have
been, were yet not those of Addison ; should surely be far
from matter of complaining with us, since in no small
degree it has served to contribute to the more complete
instruction and entertainment of the w^orld. There is a
wise little paper in which Steele has pursued so closely an
argument resembling this, that we may adapt it to our
present use. We may stigmatise it as not less a want of
sense than of good nature, to say that Addison has less
exuberant spirits than Steele, but Steele not such steady
self-control as Addison ; for, that such men have not each
other's capacities is no more a diminution to either, than
if you shouM say Addison is not Steele, or Steele not
Addison, -^he, heathen world, as Mr. Bickerstaff reasons
the matter, had so little notion that perfection was to be
expected from men, that among them any one quality or
endowment in a heroic degree made a god. Hercules had
strength, but it was never objected to him that he wanted
wit. Apollo presided over wit, and it was never asked
whether he had strength. Those wise heathens were glad
to immortalise any one serviceable gift, and to overlook all
imperfections in the person who had it. But with us it
is far otherwise. We are only too eager to reject many
manifest virtues, if we find them accompanied with a single
apparent weakness.,^ ^''
Nor does the shrewd Mr. Bickerstaff end the argument
here. He discovers in it the secret why principally it is
that the worst of mankind, the hbellers, receive so much
encouragement. " The low race of men take a great
" pleasure in finding an eminent character levelled to
" their condition by a report of its defects, and they keep
" themselves in countenance, though they are excelled in a
1 The Merchant of Venice.
168 THE WORLD AND ITS BENEFACTORS. \_Sir Richard
" thousand virtues, if they believe they have in common
" with a great person any one fault." It would not be
easy to express more perfectly, than in these few words,
the danger of those extremes of depreciation to which
Steele more than any man has been subjected. It is our
firm behef that, whatever his improvidence may have
been, he was incapable of a dishonourable action. It
will not be difficult to show, in the brief sketch we shall
presently give of his career, how little avoidable in his
circumstances were not a few of his embarrassments and
troubles. We wish it were possible to doubt that the
life to which only he was warranted in applying the modest
expression that it was " at best but pardonable," was
not better than ninety-nine hundredths of theirs whp
would be apt to pass the harshest judgments upon it. ,^ It
was at least the life of a disinterested poKtician and
patriot, of a tender husband, of an attached father, of a
scholar, a wit, a man of genius, a gentleman. But the
wit and the genius brought with them their usual penal-
ties ; and the world, not content that their exercise should
have enlarged the circle of its enjoyments, and added
enormously to human happiness in various ways, must
satisfy its vulgar eagerness to find feet of clay for its
image of gold, and give censorious fools the comfort of
speaking as ill as may be of their benefactor^^
And so thp inquisition, far worse than "forquemada's,
is opened. 'A^ircumstances of life the most minute, nor
any longer intelligible without the context that has
perished, are dragged into monstrous prominence. Re-
lations the most intimate are rudely exposed. Letters
are printed without concealment, though written in the
confidence of a privacy so sacred that to break it in the
case of ordinary men would be to overturn society alto-
gether. And if the result should finally show that the
man who has taught us all so well what our own conduct
ought to be, had unhappily failed in such wisdom for the
guidance of his own, the general complacence and satis-
faction are complete. Silly world ! as even Swift can find
it in his heart to say ; not to understand how much better
occupied it would be in finding out that men of wit may ,
be the most, rather than the least, moral of mankin^^
Unlucky man of wit ! who, in the teeth of his own earnest
Steele.'\
APPOINTMENT OF GAZETTEER. 169
warning, that only lie who lives below his income lays
up efficient armour against those who will cover all his
frailties when he is so fortified, and exaggerate them when
he is naked and defoDceless,^ goes incontinently and lives
above his own income, and gets himself rated as " a
" swindler."
Nor does Mr. Macaulay's disparagement of Steele take
only the form of such harsh and quite unwarrantable
expressions. It extends from his moral to his intellectual
character; and we are not permitted to believe that a
man could write excellent Tatlers, who was not able to
pay his tavern-bills with unvarying punctuality.
In forming his most celebrated literary project, we are
told, Steele was far indeed from seeing its consequences.
It had originated in his access to early and authentic
foreign news, opened by that appointment of Gazetteer,
which, says Mr. Macaulay, he had received " from Sun-
" derland, at the request, it is said, of Addison." This is
another of the many attempts which we grieve to see in
his Essay, to exhibit Steele as wholly dependent on Addi-
son for his position with public men ; but it is certainly
incorrect. Swift expressly tells us, on the information of
Under-Secretary Erasmus Lewis, that it was Harley from
whom he received his appointment, and at the request of
Maynwaring. Indeed, Steele has himself left us in no
doubt as to this ; for, when he was reproached for attack-
ing the man to whom his thanks for it were due, he ex-
cused himself by saying that Harley, the person referred
to, had refused at the time to accept such thanks, and had
transferred them wholly to Maynwaring : that very
leader among the Whigs who is now known himself to
have written the attack comj)lained of.^
1 The Tatler, No. 180. " pounds. This was devilish un-
2 See the Tatler, No. 193. The " grateful." *'When," he says, in
fictitious letter of prompter Downes tlie Importance of the Guardian
was certainly by Maynwaring, I considered (Works, ed. Scott, iv.
quote Swift: "Steele has lost his 192-3), **Mr. Maynwaring recom-
" place as Gazetteer," he writes to *' mended him to the employment of
Stella {Journal, Oct. 22, 1710), " Gazetteer, Mr. Harley, out of an
' ' three hundred pounds a-year, for ' ' inclination to encourage men of
'* writing a Tatler some months ago " parts, raised that office from fifty
*' against Mr, Harley, who gave it " pounds to three hundred pounds
** him at first, and raised the salary " a-year."
*' from sixty to three hundred
170 FIEST DESIGN OF THE TATLER. \_Sir Rlchavd
Mr. Macaulay proceeds to give us his own description
of the aim and design of the Tatler. Suggested by Steele's
experience as Gazetteer, it was to be on a plan quite new,
and to appear on the days when the post left London
for the country, which were, in that generation, the Tues-
days, Thursdays, and Saturdays. Mr. Macaulay thinks
it immaterial to mention that De Foe's Review, with not a
few points of resemblance, had already for five years
travelled by the country posts on those days ; but indeed
the resemblance could hardly be expected to suggest
itself, with such a low opinion of Steele's jpiirpose in
tbe Tatler as he seems to have formed. '/''It was to
contain, he says, the foreign news, accounts of thea-
trical representations, and the literary gossip of Will's
and of the Grecian. It was also to contain remarks
on the fashionable topics of the day, compliments
to beauties, pasquinades on noted sharpers, and criti-
cisms on popular preachers. " The aim of Steele does
" not appear to have been at first higher than this."
Mr. Macaulay's manifest object is to convey the im-
pression that the Tatler hdidi no real worth until Addison
joined it../
Now the facts are, that, with the exception of very rare
occasional hints embodied in papers indubitably by Steele,
and of the greater part of one essay which appeared in
May, and of another published in July, Addison's contri-
bittions to the Tatler did not begin until his return from
Ireland in the middle of October, 1709, when eighty num-
bers had been issued. If, therefore, what Mr. Macaulay
would convey be correct, Steele's narrow and limited
design must have lasted at least so long ; and that which
gives the moral not less than the intellectual charm to
these famous Essays, which turned their humour into a
censorship of manners at once gentle and effective, and
made their wit subservient to wisdom and piety, could
not have become apparent until after the middle of the
second volume. Up to that time, according to Mr.
Macaulay, Steele must have been merely compiling news,
reviewing theatres, retailing literary gossip, remarking on
fashionable topics, complimenting beauties, pasquinading
sharpers, or criticising preachers ; and could not yet have
entered the higher field which the genius of Addison was
Steele.'\ opening numbers of the tatleu. 171
to open to him. Nevertheless this is certain, that, in
dedicating the first vohame of the work to Maynwaring,
he describes in language that admits of no miscon-
struction, not only his own intention in setting it on foot,
hut what he calls the " sudden acceptance, '^ the extra-
ordinary success, which immediately followed ; and which
attracted to its subscription almost every name "now
" eminent among^us for power, wit, beauty, valour, or
" wisdom." //iSswfeR being, he says, to observe upon
the manner^,' both in the pleasurable and the busy part
of mankind, with a view to an exposure of the false arts
of life, he resolved to do this by way of a letter of intel-
ligence constructed on so novel a plan, that it should
appeal to the curiosity of all persons, of all conditions
and of each sex ; and at once he proceeds to explain the
character of his design as precisely that attempt *' to pull
" ofi" the disguises of cunning, vanity, and affectation, and
" to recommend a general simplicity in our dress, our
" discourse, and our behaviour," which was remarked by
Johnson, three-quarters of a century afterwards, as its
most happy distinguishing feature. It was this that the
old critic and philosopher singled out as the very drift of
all its labour in teaching us the minuter decencies and
inferior duties, in regulating the practice of our daily
conversation, in correcting depravities rather ridiculous
than criminal, and in removing, if not the lasting
calamities of life, those grievances which are its hourly
vexation. / /
But the papers themselves are before us, if we want
evidence more conclusive. Here is the first number with
its motto superscribed, claiming for its comprehensive
theme the qtiicquid a gtmt homines ; and here, among the
very first words that give us hearty greeting — " and for as
" much as this globe is not trodden upon by mere drudges
" of business only, but that men of spirit and genius are
" justly to be esteemed as considerable agents in it " — the
lively note seems struck for every pleasant strain that
followed. Where are the commonplaces described by Mr.
Macaulay ? How shall we limit our selection of examples,
in disproof of the alleged restriction to compiling gossip-
ing, complimenting, pasquinading ? Why, as v/e turn over
the papers preceding that number 81 which must be said
173 CRITICISM ON THE STAGE. [S/> Richavd
to have begun tlie regular contributions of Addison, there
is hardly a trait that fails to flash upon us the bright
wit, the cordial humour, the sly satire, the subtle yet
kindly criticism, the good-nature and humanity, which
have endeared this delightful book to successive genera-
tions of readers. There is, indeed, not less prominent at
the outset than it continued to the close, the love of
theatrical representations, and no doubt actors are criti-
cised and preachers too ; but we require no better proof
than the very way in which this is done, of the new and
original spirit that entered with it into periodical literature.
In both the critic finds means of detecting countless afi'ec-
tations ; and no one acquainted with the Pulpit of that
day, need feel surprise at the hints he gives of the service
the Stage might render it, or that Mr. Betterton should
have borrowed from Mr. Bickerstaff the answer to San-
croft's question — Why it was that actors, speaking of
things imaginary, afiected audiences as if they were real ;
while preachers, speaking of things real, could only affect
their congregations as with things imaginary ? '* Why
" indeed I don't know ; unless it is that we actors speak of
" things imaginary as if they were real, while you in
" the pulpit speak of things real as if they were imagi-
" nary." An admirable paper, to the same effect, among
the early Tatlers, is that wherein he tells us, that in tragi-
cal representations of the highest kind it is not the pomp
of language, or the magnificence of dress, in which the
passion is wrought that touches sensible spirits, "but
" something of a plain and simple nature which breaks in
" upon our souls by that sympathy which is given us for
" our mutual good will and service." ^ And he illustrates
his position by the example of Macduff when he hears of
the murder of his children, and of Brutus when he
speaks of the death of Portia.
There is no criticism of Shakespeare, in that day, at all
comparable to this of Steele's, at the outset and to the close
of the Tatler. With no set analysis or fine-spun theory,
but dropped only here and there, and from time to time,
with a careless grace, it is yet of the subtlest discrimi-
nation. He places the great dramatist as high in phi-
1 Tatler, No. 68.
Steele.'\ admiration of shakespeare. 173
losophy as in poetry, and in the ethics of human life and
passion quotes ever his authority as supreme. None hut
Steele then thought. of criticising him in that strain. The
examples just quoted, for instance, are used as lessons in
art, but also as experiences for_patience under actual sor-
row ; and he finely adds, that it is in life itsel? exactly as at
one of his plays, where we see the man overwhelmed by
grief yet struggling to bear it with decency and patience,
we "sigh for him, and give him every groan he sup-
" presses." In another Tatler (No. 47) he separates the
author of Othello from the ordinary tragic poets, from the
gentlemen, as he calls them, " who write in the buskin
" style " (and they were legion then, beginning with his
friend Mr. Rowe, and ending, though he refused to see
that, with his friend Mr. Addison), by the excellent
distinction, that it always seems as if Shakespeare were
suffering the events represented, while the rest were
merely looking on. In short, he says, there is no medium
in these attempts, and you must go to the very bottom
of the heart, or it is all mere language. His advice to
his tragic friends therefore is, that they should read
Shakespeare wdth care, and they will soon be deterred
from putting forth what they persuade themselves to call
tragedy. They are to read him, and to understand the
distinction between pretending to be a thing, and being
the thing they pretend. They are to read particularly,
and mark the differences between the two — the speech,
which old Northumberland addresses to the Messenger
before, and that which he utters after, he knows of the
death of Hotspur, his son; the last, one of the noblest
passages in the whole of Shakespeare.^ And he warns
them that " he who pretends to be sorrowful and is not,
" is a wretch yet more contemptible than he who pretends
" to be merry and is not."
In this mode of eliciting, not merely canons of taste,
but moral truths and rules of conduct, from the plays
he sees acted, or the books he has been reading, Steele
^ Colley Gibber soon afterwards Richard III. But wliat an asto-
did "what he could to vulgarise nishing grandeur of passion there
that speech of Northumberland's is in it ! —
by wrenching it out of its place u ^ow bind my brows with iron-
to fit it into his stage translation of ^^^ approach
174 APPRECIATION OF MILTON. \_Sir Richdrd
enriched his earliest and his latest Tatlers with a style of
criticism which he must be said to have created. Nor is
he satisfied with less than the highest models; delighting
not more to place the philosophy above the poetry of
Shakespeare, than to discover the sweetness and grace
which underlie the majesty of Milton. The sixth Tatler
begins the expression of his reverence for the latter poet ;
and not until the last line of the last Tatler, on which
Shakespeare's name is imprinted, does it cease in regard
to either. It was he, and not his friend, who, in that age of
little faith, first raised again the poet of Paradise; his allu-
sions to him, from the very commencement, are incessant ;
and a Tatler of but a few days earlier than that just
quoted, contains not only the noble lines in which Adam
contemplates the sleeping Eve, but, by way of comment
on its picture of manly affection made up of respect and
tenderness, throws out this delightful remark. *' This is
" that sort of passion which truly deserves the name of
" love, and has something more generous than friendship
" itself; for it has a constant care of the object beloved,
" abstracted from its own interests in the possession
«ofit.'\
t^^a time in no wav; remarkable for refinement, Steele's
gallantry to women/ihus incessantly expressed in the
Tatler to the last, w^s that of a Sir Tristan or Sir Cali-
dore ; and, in not a small degree, to every household into
which it carried such unaccustomed language, this was a
ground of its extraordinary success. Inseparable always
from his passion is the exalted admiration he feels ; and
his love is the very flower of his respect^^jxDelightfuUy
does he say of a woman in the 206th Tatldr, that the love
of her is not to be put apart from some esteem of her ;
" The rugged'st hour that time and " But let one spirit of the first-born
spite dare bring Cain
** To frown upon the enrag'd North- " Reign in all bosoms ; that, each
umberland. heart being set
" Let heav'n kiss earth ! Now let " On bloody courses, the rude scene
not Nature s liand may end,
** Keep this wild flood confin'd ! let " And Darkness be the burier of the
Order die ! dead ! "
" And let this world no longer be a
stage, In the whole of poetry, ancient and
" To feed contention in a lingering modern, there is no image greater
act ; than that.
Steele.'\ on the education of women. 175
and, as slie is naturally the object of affection, site who
has your esteem has also some degree of your love. ::'^ut
as, unhappily, a woman's education was then sunk to the
lowest ebb, there is also no subject to which he has occa-
sion so often and so eagerly to return, as a comparison of
the large amount of care bestowed on her person with the
little given to her mind. You deliver your daughter to a
dancing-master, he says in one of these papers, you put
a collar round her neck, you teaoh her every movement
under pain of never having a husband if she steps, or
looks, or moves awry ; and all the time you forget the true
art, which " is to make mind and body improve together,
" to make gesture follow thought, and not let thought be
" employed upon gesture," " As he says, in another paper
to the like effect, a woman must think well to look well.^
He is never weary of surrounding her form with hosts of
graces and deHghts ; in her mind, how unused and uncul-
tivated soever, he yet recognises always a finer and more
deHcate humanity; and, of all the subtle and eloquent
things ever uttered in her praise by poet or romancer,
none have surpassed that fascinating eulogy of Lady
Elizabeth Hastings which is contained in the 49th Tatler.
" That awful distance which we bear toward her in all
" our thoughts of her, and that cheerful familiarity with
" which we approach her, are certain instances of her
" being the truest object of love of any of her sex. In
" this accomplished lady, love is the constant effect,
" because it is never the design. Yet, though her mien
^' carries much more invitation than command, to behold
" her is an immediate check to loose behaviour, and to
" love her is a liberal education.'*
As we have turned to this charming passage, we meet
another of his illustrations from Shakespeare, in which,
rebuking the author of a new tragedy for relying too much
on the retinue, guards, ushers, and courtiers of his hero
to make him magnificent, " Shakespeare," he exclaims,
" is our pattern. In the tragedy of Caesar he introduces
" his hero in his night-gown." The resemblance of
Addison's 42nd Spectator to this 53rd Tatler need not be
pointed out ; and we shall be excused for saying, with all
1 No. 212 ; and see No. 248.
176 CHARACTERS IN EARLY TATLERS. \_Sir Richavd
our love and respect for Addison, that he might with good
effect have taken, now and then, even a hint of conduct,
as well as one of criticism, from his friend. As to modes
of dying, for example. The 11th Tatler, with a truth
and spirit not to be surpassed, remarks that any doctrine
on the subject of dying, other than that of living well, is
the most insignificant and most empty of all the labours
of men. A tragedian can die by rule, and wait till he
discovers a plot, or says a fine thing upon his exit ; but
in real life, and by noble spirits, it will be done decently,
without the ostentation of it. Commend me, exclaims
Steele, to that natural greatness of soul expressed by an
innocent and consequently resolute country fellow, who
said, in the pains of the cholic, " If I once get this breath
" out of my body, you shall hang me before you put it in
*' again." Honest Ned ! And so he died.
And what hints of other characters, taken from the
same portion of the Tatler, need we, or shall we, add to
honest Ned's, in proof that Steele did not wait for Addi-
son's help before stamping his design with the most
marked feature that remained with it ? The difficulty is
selection. Shall we take the wealthy wags who give one
another credit in discourse according to their purses, who
jest by the pound, and make answers as they honour bills ;
and who, with unmoved muscles for the most exquisite
wit whose banker's balance they are not acquainted with,
smirk at every word each speaks to the other ?^ Shall
we take the modest young bachelor of arts, who, thinking
himself fit for anything he can get, is above nothing that
is offered, and, having come to town recommended to a
chaplain's place but finding none vacant, modestly accepts
that of a postilion? 2 Shall we introduce the eminent
storyteller and politician, who owes the regularity and
fluency of his dullness entirely to his snuff-box ? ^ Shall
we make acquaintance with the whimsical young gentle-
man, so ambitious to be thought worse than he is, that,
in his degree of understanding, he sets up for a free-
thinker, and talks atheistically in coffee-houses all day,
though every morning and evening, it can be proved upon
him, he regularly at home says his prayers ? "^ Shall the
1 Tatler, No. 57. ^ Tatlei-, No. 35.
8 Tatler, No. 52. -» Tatler, No. 77.
Steele.']
FIRST SPRIGHTLY RUNNINGS OF WIT. 177
well-meaning Umbra take us by the button, and talk half
an hour to us upon matters wholly insignificant with
an air of the utmost solemnity, that we may teach our-
selves the charity of not being offended with what has a
good intention in it, by remembering that to little men.
little things are of weight, and that, though our courteous,
friend never served us, he is ever willing to do it, and
believes he really does do it ? ^ Or, while Mr. Bickerstafl^
thus teaches us that impotent kindness is to be tolerated,,
shall Mrs. Jenny Distaff show us that impotent malice is
not ; and that society should scout the fool who cannot
listen to praise without whispering detraction, or hear a
man of worth named without recounting the worst
passage of his life.^
Shall we follow into Garraway's or the Stock Exchange
those two men, in whom so striking a contrast appears of
plain simplicity with imposing affectation, and learn that
the sort of credit which commerce affects is worthless, if but
sustained by the opinions of others and not by its own
consciousness of value ? ^ Shall we let the smallest of
pedants, Will Dactyle, convince us that learning does but
improve in us what nature endowed us with ; for that, not
to have good sense with learning is only to have more
ways of exposing oneself, and to have sense is to know
that learning itself is not knowledge?* Shall the best
natured of old men, Senecio, prove to us that the natural
and not the acquired man is the companion ; that benevo-
lence is the only law of good-breeding; that society can?
take no account of fortune ; and that he who brings his
quality with him into conversation, coming to receive
homage and not to meet his friends, should pay the reck-
oning also?' Shall we listen to Will Courtly, saying
nothing but what was said before, yet appearing neither
ignorant among the learned nor indiscreet with the wise„
^ Tatler, No. 37. ** faculties, and not to disguise our
2 Tatler, No. 38. " imperfections. It is therefore ia
' Tatler, No. 48. ** vain for folly to attempt to conceal
■* Tatler, No. 58. This subject " itself by the refuge of learned
he pursues in another admirable " langnages. Literature does but
Tatler of later date (No. 197), where " make a man more eminently the
he points out that "all the true use " thing which Nature made him."
" of what we call learning is to en- * Tatler^ No. 45.
" noble and improve our natural
n
178 FATHER OF THE EXGLISH ESSAY. \_Sir RlcJiard
and acknowledge, so long as Will can thus converse with
the wittiest without being ridiculous, that, if ceremony is
the invention of wise men to keep fools at a distance,
good-breeding must be its opposite expedient of putting
wise men and less wise on an equality ? ^ Shall we make
ourselves easy in the company of Sophronius, who, when
he does a service, charms us not more by his alacrity
than, when he declines one, by his manner of convincing
us that such service should not have been asked ? ^ Or
shall we fidget ourselves in a room with Jack Dimple,
who, having found out that what makes Sophronius
acceptable is a natural behaviour, in order to the same
reputation makes his own entirely artificial, meditates
half an hour in the ante- room to get up his careless air,
and is continually running back to the mirror to recollect
his forgetfulness ? '
Such are among a few of the characters and essays
which, while Mr. Macaulay would represent the Tatler as
yet given up to sheer commonplace, Steele with a pro-
digal wit and exuberant fancy was pouring out upon its
readers. We touch but slightly these few, and only hint
at their purport and design ; entering into no more detail
than may carry with it the means of outweighing an asser-
tion, advanced on authority too high to be met by mere
assertion of our own. We leave fifty things unnamed,
and take from those named only a sentence here and
there : but is it not enough ? Not to speak of what will
better be described hereafter, of social colouring and indi-
vidual expression, have we not here what gave life to the
Tatler'} Have we not the sprightly father of the English
Essay, writing at the first even as he wrote to the last ;
out of a true and honest heart sympathising with all
things good and true; already master of his design
in beginning it, and able to stand and move without
help of any kind, if the need should be ? In his easy
chair we shall hereafter see Mr. Bickerstaff, amid the
rustling of hoop-petticoats, the fluttering of fans, and the
obeisance of flowing perukes : but what here for the pre-
sent we see, is the critic and philosopher Steele, more
wise and not less agreeable ; who, in an age that faction
1 TatltT, No. 30. * Ti tier, No. 21. ' Ibid.
Sleele,"] getting wisdom out of trifles. 179
brutalised and profligacy debased, undertook the censor-
sliip of manners, and stamped at once upon the work he
invented a genius as original as delightfuL Here we
have ourselves the means of judging if it was gossip, and
compliments, and pasquinades, in the midst of which
Addison found his friend ; or whether, already, he had not
struck out the thought by which both must be famous for
ever, of enlivening morality with wit, and tempering wit
with morality ?
But another fact is not less manifest in the examples
given, and with it perhaps something of excuse for the
£alf contemptuous tone that has done him such injustice,
'^here is nothing so peculiar to his manner as the art of
getting wisdom out of trifles. Without gravely trans-
lating his humorous announcement,^ that, when any part
of his paper appeared dull, it was to be noted that there
was a design in it, we may say with perfect truth that he
had a design in everything. But a laugh never yet looked ,
so wise as a frown ; and, unless you are at pains to look
a little beneath it, the wisdom of Mr. Isaac Bickerstaff
may now and then escape yoiy' The humorous old gentle-
man who is always prying into his neighbours' concerns,
when he is not gossiping of his own ; to whom the young
beau is made responsible for wearing red-heeled shoes,
and the young belle for showing herself too long at her
glass; who turns the same easy artillery of wit against
the rattling dice-box and the roaring pulpit ; who has
early notice of most of the love-afi'airs in town, can tell
you of half the domestic quarrels, and knows more of a
widow with a handsome jointure than her own lawyer or
next of kin ; whose tastes take a range as wide as his
experience, to whom Plutarch is not less familiar than a
pretty fellow, and who has for his clients not only the
scholars of the Grecian, but the poets at Will's, the men
of fashion at White's, and the quidnuncs of the St.
James's, — this old humourist,' yoa would say, is about the
last man to pass for a Socrates.r^nd yet there was some-
thing more than whim in the good Isaac's ambition to
have it said of his Lucubrations, that, whereas Socrates had j
brought philosophy down from heaven to inhabit among I
K 2
180 HUMANiTAS HUMANissiMA. [S/V Richard
\ men, he liad himself aimed to bring philosophy out of
closets and libraries, schools and collegps, to dwell in
clubs and assemblies, at tea-tables and in cofFee-houses^>^
For, it is his actual and marked peculiarity, that neither
^more nor less than this may generally be detected in
Steele. One of the sincerest of men, he was the most
natural of writers ; and, living in the thick of the world,
he could not' write but with a vivid and ever present
sense of it. "/The humanitas humanissima is never absent
from him. If he takes up a book, it is not for a bookish
purpose ; he is thinking always of the life around him^/>
Never yet, we think, has he had the due and distinctive
praise for this, which in some sort separates him from
every humourist and satirist of his time. Wit more
piercing and keen, a reflective spirit of wider scope, a style
more correct and pure, even humour more consummate than
his own, will be found, in the way of comment upon life,
among his friends and fellow- labourers ; but, for that
which vividly brings actual Life before us, which touches
the heart as with a present experience, which sympathises
to the very core with all that moves the joy or sorrow of his
fellows, and which still, even as then, can make the follies
of men ridiculous and their vices hateful without branding
ridicule or hate upon the men themselves, — we must turn
to Steele, ^n his little pictures of the world, that open
new and unexpected views of it ; in his wonderfully pathetic
little stories, that fill our eyes with tears ; in those trivial
details by which he would make life easier and happier,
in those accidents the most common and familiar out of
which he draws secrets of humanity ; what most, after aU,
impresses us, is a something independent of authorshigj^
We like him the more for being nearer and more like our-
selves, not for being higher or standing apart ; and it is
still the man whom his writings make pleasant to us, more
than the author, the wit, thepartizan, or the fine gentleman.
And a great reason for this we take to be, that he
founded his theory and views of life rather on the
realities that men should bravely practise, than on the
pretences^) which for the most part they shamefully
submit. 'To be a man of breeding, was with him to be a
man of feeling ; to be a fine gentleman, in his own phrase,
was to be a generous and brave man ; he had a proper
Steele.~\ ox vulgarity. 181
contempt for the good manners that did not also impty
the good morals ; and it was the exalting and purifying
influence of love for Lady Betty Modish, that made his
Colonel Ranter cease to swear at the waiters^ Be his
theme, therefore, small or great, he hrings it sull within
rules and laws which we find have not lost their interest
for ourselves ; and to which, in truth, we are in all respects
still as amenable, as if the red-heeled shoe, the hooped
petticoat, or the flowing peruke, were yet potent and pre-
dominant in our century. As an instance which at once
will explain our meaning, let us take what he says of
vulgarity. It also is in one of these early Tatlers.'
There is perhaps no word so misused, certainly none of
which the misuse is so mischievous ; and not unfairly, by
the opinions held of it, we may .take the measure of a
code of ethics and philosophy.
^y^^ieelQ^^ view of the matter, then, is, that it is to him
a very great meanness, and something much below a
philosopher, which is what he means by a gentleman, to
rank a man among the vulgar for the condition of life he
is in, and not according to his behaviour, his thoughts,
and his sentiments in that conditionJ?^ For, as he puts it,
if a man be loaded with riches and honours, and in that
state has thoughts and inclinations below the meanest
workman, is not such a workman, who within his power
is good to his friends and cheerful in his occupation,
much superior in all ways to him who lives but to serve
himself ? He then quotes the comparison, from Epictetus,
of human life to a stage play ; in which the philosopher
tells us it is not for us to consider, among the actors, who
is prince or who is beggar, but who acts prince or beggar
^ Tatler, No. 10. " extraordinary in such a man as
* Tatler, No. 69. " lie is, and tlie like ; when they
^ How charmingly he illustrates " are forced to acknowledge the
this in his paper on the death of '* value of him whose lowness up-
Richard Eastcourt the comedian, one *' braids their exaltation. It is to
of his masterpieces of feeling and ** this humour only it is to be
style, a brief extract will show : "ascribed, that a quick wit in
" It is an insolence natural to the " conversation, a nice judgment
** wealthy, to affix, as much as in "upon any emergency that could
*' them lies, the character of a man " arise, and a most blameless in-
" to his circumstances. Thus it is "offensive behaviour, could not
' ' ordinary with them to praise ' ' raise this man above being re-
" faintly the good qualities of those " ceived only upon the foot of con-
" below them, and say, it is very " tributing to mirth and diversion.'*
182 ON SOCIAL DUTIES AND DISTINCTIONS. [<S/V Rlchard
best. In other words, the circumstance of life should not
be that which gives us place, but our conduct in that
circumstance. This alone can be our solid distinction ;
and from it Steele proceeds to draw certain rules of
breeding and behaviour. A wise man, he says, should
think no man above him or below him, any fui'ther than
it regards the outward order or discipline of the world ;
for, if we conceive too great an idea of the eminence of
those above, or of the subordination of those below, it
will have an ill effect upon our behaviour to both. With
a noble spirit he adds, that he who thinks . no man his
superior but for virtue, and none his inferior but for vice,
can never be obsequious or assuming in a wrong place ;
but will be ready as frequently to emulate men in rank
below him, as to avoid and pity those above. Not that
there was anything of the democrat, or leveller, in Steele.
He knew too well that the distinctions of life, if taken at
their true worth, would never fail to support themselves ;
and it was his knowledge of the quite irrepressible
influence of wealth and station, that urged him to such
repeated enforcement of the social charities and duties to
which he believed them to be also not less bound. It was
no easy part, in his opinion, that the man of rank and
wealth had to play. It was no easy thing, in friendly
intercourse, to check the desire to assume mme superiority
on the ground of position or fortune. It is not every
man, he said with an exquisite felicity of phrase, that can
entertain with the air of a guest, and do good offices with
the mien of one that receives them.
^ J The subject, ha^dng drawn us so far, tempts us to other
^ ^ illustrations// As Steele thus held, in the great commerce
of the world, that a man must be valued apart from his
circumstances, in like manner he also held, that, in his
relations with it, he must regulate what he would appear
to be by nothing other than actually becoming it. Nor
is there, in this mode of reasoning, anything too little or
too great not to yield as its result, to his philosophy, the
value of reality beyond appearance// The fatality, he re-
marks in the 27th Tatler, under which most men labour,
of desiring to be what they are not, makes them go out
of a method in which they might be received with
applause, and would certainly excel, into one wherein
Steele.~\ on appearance and reality. 183
tliey will all their life have the air of strangers to what
/ they aim at. y "With him originated the teaching, that a
I man must not hope to pass for anything more than he is
worth ; that he must take care of his own wisdom and
his own virtue, without minding too much what others
think ; and that, in what he knows himself that he has,
can rest his only safe pledge at any time for its acknow- ^
ledgment by other^ Not all the mistakes, he argued,
in a noble paper or somewhat later date than these to
which we have been referring,' committed by the vain
and the proud, in taking praise for honour and ceremony
for respect, could ever tend to make vanity and pride in
themselves less ridiculous and odious ; for what springs
out of falsehood may not be cured by anything short of
truth. To no end is it, therefore, that men study to
appear considerable, if in their own hearts they be not
actual possessors of the requisites for the esteem they
seek. What in the former case is impossible, would in
this be unavoidable ; and it is the only rule to walk by
safely. Hence, proceeds Steele, it will be a useful hint in
all such cases for a man to ask himself, whether he really
is what he has a mind to he thought ; for if he is, he need ^
not give himself much further anxiety. '^ What will the ^
" World say," would then no longer be his question in
matters of difficulty ; as if the terror lay wholly in the
sense which others, and not ourselves, should have of our
actions. And so we should destroy the one fatal source
from which have arisen all the impostors in every art
and profession, in all places, among all persons, in con- >
versation, in business, in society, in the worl(j/'' " Hence
" also is it," he adds quietly, and with excellent effect
after all his emphasis, " that a vain fellow takes twice as
" much pains to be ridiculous as would make him sin-
" cerely agreeable." For we are never to be permitted
to lose sight of the fact, that the little and the great
subserve still the same truths and laws, in the eyes of
our kindly philosopher, tatler, and companion.
To which end, from every part of his delightful book,
it would be easy to continue our instances and illustra-
tions, to the still recurring evidence and proof that there
is nothing to be imagined so trivial which may not yet
1 Tatler, No. 186.
184 SAME LAWS FOR LITTLE AND GREAT. {^Sir RicJtavd
be used to establisli tlie superiority of truth over all the
affectations and pretences. " I have heard," he remarks
in one of the later Tatlers/ " my old friend Mr. Hart '
*' speak it as an observation among the players that it is
" impossible to act with grace except the actor has forgot
" that he is before an audience." Still the reasoning is
the same, still the conclusion is unerring, whether the
audience be the world, the coffee-house, the drawing-
room, or the theatre ; and you would hardly suppose, by
his manner of handling any, that Mr. Bickerstaff thought
the least of less importance than the greatest. For,
indeed, in his mode of viewing life, neither is quite inde-
pendent of the other ; and it was he who first compared
the man of much knowledge and many thoughts, unprac-
tised in the arts of society, to one who has his pockets
full of gold but always wants change for his ordinary
occasions. " We see a world of pains taken," he con-
tinues,^ " and the best years of life spent, in collecting a
^* set of thoughts in a college for the conduct of life ; and,
" after all, the man so qualified shall hesitate in his speech
" to a good suit of clothes, and want common sense before
*^ an agreeable woman."
The remark opportunely takes us back to those earlier
Tatlers which contain it, and to the purpose for which we
have referred to them ; nor will its hints as to college
life render less appropriate the single additional reference
we shall make, before resuming what waits us still of Mr.
Macaulay's censure. In his 39th Tatler, Mr. Bickerstaff
visits Oxford : not in search of popular preachers to
criticise, of pretty faces to compliment, or of youthful
follies to pasquinade ; but to refresh his imagination in a
scene sacred to civilisation and learning, where so far his
own social philosophy prevails, that not the fortunes but
^ Tatler^ No. 138. *' rior, just as we do of Betterton's
2 This was the actor to whom ** being superior to those now."
Pope makes the characteristic allu- It is the universal rule in such mat-
sion in speaking of Betterton. "I ters. When Lady Louisa Meyrick
"was acquainted with Betterton was taken to see Mrs. Siddons, she
" from a boy. . . . Yes, I really protested that, compared with the
*' think Betterton the best actor I favourite of her youth, Mrs. Porter,
** ever saw ; but I ought to tell you, her grief was the giief of a cheese-
*' at the same time, that in Better- monger's wife.
" ton's days the older sort of people ^ Tatler, No. 30.
" talked of Hart's being his supe-
Steele.^ attack on Steele by macaulay. 185
the understandings of men exact distinction and pre-
cedence, and you shall see an Earl walk bareheaded to
the son of the meanest artificer, in respect to seven years'
more knowledge and worth than the nobleman is pos-
sessed of. "The magnificence of their palaces," adds
Steele, " the greatness of their revenues, the sweetness
" of their groves and retirements, seem equally adapted
" for the residence of princes and philosophers ; and a
" familiarity with objects of splendour, as well as places
" of recess, prepares the inhabitants with an equanimity
*' for their future fortunes, whether humble or illustrious."
We think, as we read the paper, of some of the most
pleasing turns of Addison.
But, alas ! what would be said to such a remark by
Mr. Macaulay, who, taking up the project of the Tatler at
the low design we have seen him attribute to it, proceeds
drily to describe its editor as " wo^ ^7/-qualified " to give
efiect to such a plan ? Steele was not i7/-qualified, that
is, to compile news, to give an account of a theatrical
representation, to collect literary gossip at Will's and the
Grecian, to remark on fashionable topics, to compliment
a beauty, to pasquinade a sharper, or to criticise a popular
preacher. For, Mr. Macaulay continues, his public intel-
ligence he drew from the best sources j he not only knew
the town, but had paid dear for his knowledge ; "he had
" read much more " (now, do not let the sanguine reader
expect too much) " than the dissipated men of that time
" were in the habit of reading ; " if he was a rake among
scholars, he was a scholar among rakes ; nay, his style
was even easy and not incorrect ; and though his wit and
humour were of no high order, his gay animal spirits
imparted to his compositions an air of vivacity which
ordinary readers could hardly distinguish from comic
genius. " His writings have been well compared to those
" light wines which, though deficient in body and flavour,
" are yet a pleasant small drink, if not kept too long, or
" carried too far." It is sufiiciently clear, at least, that
they have survived too long for Mr. Macaulay. Yinegar
is not more sour than the pleasant small drink, kept now
too long by nearly a century and a half, is become to
him.
We must accept it, we suppose, as among the chances
186 VICISSITUDES OF OLD REPUTATIONS. [S/r Richavd
and vicissitudes to which old reputations are subject.
Steele was famed as a wit before Pope came upon the
town, and in those days a young poet who could say he
had dined with him was not without claims to considera-
tion.' In the succeeding age, this opinion went on gather-
ing strength ; and it was enough for a man to have
merely written a single paper in one of the works he con-
ducted, to be thought entitled to unquestioned celebrity.
" For example," said Murphy to Johnson,^ " there is Mr.
" Ince, who used to frequent Tom's Coffee-house ; he has
" obtained considerable fame merely from having written
" a paper in the Spectator.^' " But," interposed Johnson,
" you must consider how highly Steele speaks of Mr.
'' Ince." The dull Dr. Hurd followed, and brayed Steele
down loudly enough ; but afterwards came a reaction, the
laborious and industrious Nichols produced careful
editions of his writings, and he resumed his admitted rank
as a humourist of the first order, the most pathetic of
story-tellers, the kindest of wits and critics, and, of all
the fathers of English Essay, the most natural and the
most inventive. Charles Lamb, Hazlitt, and Leigh Hunt,
no inconsiderable authorities, even placed him above his
friend, on an eminence where we cannot and need not
follow them. What now has befallen him in the other
extreme we see, and that more than two hundred Tatlers,
nearly two hundred and fifty Spectators, and some eighty"
Guardians, to say nothing of Englishmen, Lovers, Eeaders,
Theatres, Town Talks, Plebeians, Chit Chats, and what
not, have failed to win from Mr. Macaulay as much
kindly recognition, as the good old Samuel Johnson was
ready to reward Mr. Ince with, for one Spectator.
But we cannot unresistingly surrender the fame of
Steele even to Mr. Macaulay's well-merited fame. To a
reputation which time has made classical there belongs
what no new reputation can have, till it shall in turn
become old ; and in the attempt to reverse, by a few con-
^ The reader of Pope will remem- " 'Twas all the ambition his high
ber his laugh at Ambrose Philips : soul could feel,
- When simple Macer, now of high " ^o wear red stockings, and to dine
renown, with Steele."
"First sought a poet's fortune in 2 BosweirsZi/e, 10th April, 1776.
the town :
Steele.~\ affection foe, addison. 187
temptuous sentences, a verdict of nearly two centuries,
it is the assailant who is most in peril. The disadvantage
doubtless is great in having to meet a general attack by
detailed assertion of the claims denied, but abeady we
have not shrunk from that detail ; and still, before enter-
ing on such a sketch of Steele's personal career as may
best perhaps fix those claims, and ascertain his real place
among the men of his time, more of the same kind awaits
us. But we will not be tempted into comparisons that
would have given pain to his own generous nature. There
was no measure to Steele's afiection for Addison. Even
Fielding's wit could not exaggerate the eagerness with
which, on all occasions, he depreciated his own writings to
exaggerate those of his friend. He was above all men in
the talent we call humour, he exclaimed again and again ;
he had it in a form more exquisite and delightful than
any other man ever possessed. He declared, in the last
number of the TatleVy that its finest strokes of wit and
humour had been Addison's. He avowed himself, in the
last number of the Spectator^ more proud of Addison's
long-continued friendship than he should be of the fame
of being thought even the author of his writings. " I
" fared like a distressed prince," he said again, speaking
of him in the preface to the Tatler's last volume, " who
" calls in a powerful neighbour to his aid. I was undone
" by my auxiliary. When I had once called him in, I
" could not subsist without dependence on him." That
Addison had changed the design of the paper, he never
said ; but he never tired of saying that his genius had
elevated and enriched it. Again, and still again, at
various times, he reasserts this with all the hearty warmth
of his unselfish and unmisgiving nature. *' I rejoiced in
" being excelled," he exclaims, remarking on Mr. Tickell's
not very generous doubts ; ^' and made those little talents,
" whatever they are, which I have, give way, and be sub-
" servient to the superior qualities of a friend whom I
" loved." Eeplying to a more savage attack by Dennis,
he still contrives occasion to refer to " that excellent man
" whom Heaven made my friend and superior." Nor had
that friend been many weeks in his grave, when, forgetful
of all that had clouded their latter intercourse, and having
a necessity to mention their joint connection with the
188 ISSUE JOINED WITH MACAULAY. [Sir Rlc hard
Tatler and Spectator^ lie describes himself as not merely
the inventor of those papers, but the introducer into them
of ^' a much better writer than himself who is now im-
" mortal." ' Such a feeling we are bound to respect, we
think, out of respect to him who entertained it; even
while we see that he suffers no disadvantage from such a
noble modesty.
We take therefore a specific statement made by Mr.
Macaulay, not necessarily involving a comparison, though
made to justify the contempt which would sacrifice one
reputation to the other ; and we shall meet it by some
additional references to Tatlers written by Steele, so made
as also to include some means of judgment upon them.
After stating that at the close of 1709 the work was more
popular than any periodical paper had ever been, and that
Addison's connexion with it was generally known, Mr.
Macaulay adds that it was not however known that almost
everything good in it was his ; and that his fifty or sixty
numbers were not merely the best, but so decidedly the
best, that any five of them were more valuable than all
the two hundred numbers in which he had no share. In
mere extent, we may pause to remark, the participation
was not so large ; for, of the sixty numbers printed by
Tickell, not much fewer than twenty were joint compo-
sitions, and Steele bore his full and equal part in those
humorous proceedings before the Court of Honour, where
even Bishop Hurd is fain to admit that " Sir Richard
" hath acquitted himself better than usual." But to
dwell further upon this would involve what we wish to
avoid. What is absolutely good, or absolutely bad, is not
matter of relation or comparison : and if, upon the
examples of Steele's Tatlers which now we are about to
add to those already named, any question or doubt can be
raised of their wit, feeling, or truth ; of their invention, their
observation of life and of the shades of character ; of their
humour, or the high moral tendency of their satire ; nay,
even of their sweetness, facility, and grace of style ; the
verdict will pass which determines, not this or that degree
of inferiority to his friend, but the issue specifically raised
by Mr. Macaulay, of whether or not, independently
» The Theatre No. 8, Jan. 26, 1719-20.
Sleele.'] tale told by mr. bickerstaff. 189
of sucli considerations, Steele's title as an English
humourist is to he conceded any longer. The statue
has been flung down from its pedestal, but its features
remain yet undefaced; and upon an honest and im-
partial judgment of them, must rest its claim to be
restored.
Our first example shall be a domestic picture, drawn
by Steele in two Tatlers of within a few weeks' date of
each other (Nos. 95 and 114), which to our thinking
includes in itself almost every quality enumerated, and
that in no indifferent degree. It is a common-life interior,
of a truth and exactness which Wilkie or Leslie might
have painted, and of that kind of pathos and purity which
Goldsmith or Dickens might have written. In connexion
with it, too, it is to be remembered that at this time, as
Mr. Macaulay observes in his Essay, no such thing as the
English novel existed. De Foe as yet was only an eager
politician, Eichardson an industrious compositor, Fielding
a mischievous schoolboy, and Smollett and Goldsmith
were not born. For your circulating libraries (the first of
which had been established some six years before, to the
horror of sellers of books, and the ruin of its ingenious
inventor) there was as yet nothing livelier, in that direc-
tion, than the interminable Grand Cyrus of Madame de
Scuderi, or the long-winded Cassandra and Pharamond
of the lord of La Calprenede, which Steele so heartily
laughed at in his Tender Husband.
The little story conveyed in the two papers is of the
simplest possible description. Mr. Bickerstaff visits an
old married friend, who had been his schoolfellow and
his college companion, in whose house he always feels as
in a second home, and where, as soon as the family come
to town for the winter, he is expected to dinner as a
matter of course. How pretty is the opening scene! " I
*' cannot, indeed, express the pleasure it is to be met by
" the children with so much joy as I am when I go
" thither. The boys and girls strive who shall come
*' first, when they think it is I that am knocking at the
" door; and that child which loses the race to me runs back
" again to tell the father it is Mr. Bickerstafi". This day
" I was led in by a pretty girl that we all thought must
*' have forgot mc, for the family has been out of town
190 MARRIED AND BACHELOR LIFE. \jSir Rtchard
" these two years. Her knowing me again was a mighty
" subject with us, and took up our discourse at the first
" entrance." Then follows pleasant raillery of Mr. Bic-
kerstaff from all the circle, upon numberless Kttle stories
that had been told of him in the country ; the hints they
have heard of his marriage with a young lady there ; the
hope they express that he will yet give the preference to our
eldest daughter, Mrs. Mary, now sixteen ; and the father's
laughing disbeliefs, founded on Mr. B's love afi'airs of old,
and the verses he wrote on Teraminta. But after dinner
the friends are alone, and then fears for his wife's health
break from the husband, which the other tries to turn
aside ; and so arise genial memories of the past, Mr. Bic-
kerstaff talking over all his friend's courting days again,
how they first saw her at the playhouse, and it was himself
who followed her from the playhouse to ascertain her name,
and who carried his friend's first love-letter to her, and
who carried it back to him unopened, and how foolishly
wretched he then was to think her angry in earnest. But
the pleasant memory of sorrow that was unreal, and had
passed away, cannot abate the abiding and still recurring
fear. " That fading in her countenance," he says, " is
" chiefly caused by her watching with me in my fever."
But, handsomer than ever to him is the pale face ; and
nothing in all the boisterous passions of their youth, he
tells his friend, can compare in depth and intensity with
the love he feels in manhood. The poor bachelor thinks,
as the other speaks, that now he shall never know it.
" Her face," continues the husband more calmly, " is to
" me much more beautiful than when I first saw it ; there
" is no decay in any feature, which I cannot trace from
'* the very instant it was occasioned by some anxious con-
" cern for my welfare and interests." With which
thought, the tide of his sorrow comes again upon him ;
and he describes his sinking heart as he hears the children
play in the next room, and thinks what the poor things
shall do when she is gone. Whereupon she re-enters ;
and he brightens again at her cheerful face; and she
knows what he has been talking of, and ralHes him, and
means to have Mr. Bickerstaff for her second husband
unless this first will take greater care of himself; and
finally gets Mr. Bickerstaff to promise to take her again
Sleelc\~\ AN ENGLISH DOMESTIC INTERIOR. 191
to the playhouse, in memory of his having followed her
one night from the playhonse.
The children then reappear to complete a domestic
interior, which, at a time when wit had no higher employ-
ment than to laugh at the affections and moralities of
home, could have arisen only to a fancy as pure as the
heart that prompted it was loving and true. The noisiest
among them is Mr. Bickerstaff's godson, Dick, in whose
conversation, however, though his drum is a Httle in the
way, this nice gradation of incredulity appears, that, hav-
ing got into the lives and adventures of Guy of Warwick,
the Seven Champions, and other historians of that age,
he shakes his head at the improbability of ^sop's Fables.
But the mother becomes a little jealous of the godson
carrying off too much attention ; and she will have her
friend admire little Mrs. Betty's accompKshments, which
accordingly are described ; and so the conversation goes
on till late, when Mr. Bickerstaff leaves the cordial fire-
side, considering the different conditions of a married Kfe
and the life of a bachelor, and goes home in a pensive
mood to his maid, his dog, and his cat, who only can
be the better or the worse for what happens to him.
But the little story is only half told. Having for its
design to show that the pleasures of married life are too
little regarded, that thousands have them and do not
enjoy them, and that it is therefore a kind and good
office to acquaint such people with their own happiness,
he with it connects the solemn warning to be drawn from
its fleeting tenure, and the Limited duration of all enjoy-
ment on earth.
Two mouths have elapsed, it is the last day of the year,
and Mr. Bickerstaff is walking about his room very cheer-
fully, when a coach stops at his door, a lad of fifteen
alights, and he perceives the eldest son of his school-
fellow. The pleasant thought has occurred to him that
the father was just such a stripling at the time of their
first knowledge of each other, when the boy enters, takes
his hand, and bursts into tears. His thought at the
moment is with his friend, and with sudden concern he
inquires for him. The reply, " My mother ," and
the tears that choke further utterance, tell Mr. Bickerstaff
all. His friend's worst forebodings have come suddenly
193 A DEATH-BED SCENE. \_Sir PJchard
true. He hurries to the house; meets the celebrated
divine, Dr. Smallridge, just quitting it ; and, by the sup-
pressed grief of the mourners as he enters, knows what
hope and consolation that sacred teaching has left. But
the husband, at sight of him, cannot but turn a\A'ay his
face and weep again ; and the little family of children
renew the expressions of their sorrow, according to their
several ages and degrees of understanding. The eldest
daughter, in tears, is busied in attendance upon her
mother ; others are kneeling about the bedside ; " and
*' what troubled me most was to see a little boy, who was
" too young to know the reason, weeping only because his
*' sisters did.'' In the room, there is only one person
unmoved ; and as he approaches the bed she says in a
low broken voice, " This is kindly done. Take care of
" your friend — do not go from him ! '^ She has taken
leave of them all, and the end is come. " My heart was
*' torn in pieces to see the husband on one side suppress-
" ing and keeping down the swellings of his grief, for
" fear of disturbing her in her last moments ; and the
" wife, even at that time, concealing the pains she
*' endured, for fear of increasing his affliction. She kept
" her eyes upon him for some moments after she grew
" speechless, and soon after closed them for ever. In the
*^ moment of her departure, my friend, who had thus far
" commanded himself, gave a deep groan, and fell into a
*' swoon by her bedside.'' The few calm grave sentences
that follow this description are known to have been
written by Addison. It would seem as though Steele
felt himself unable to proceed, and his friend had taken
the pen from his trembling hand.
Need we indicate other stories, told yet more briefly,
more in the manner of direct relations, and all of them
pathetic in the extreme ? Inkle and Yarico, which has
filled with tears so many eyes, and the story of Alexander
Selkirk, which suggested De Foe's wonderful romance,
belong to Steele's writings in the Spectator ; but, in the
Tatler, we have Valentine and Unnion (No. 5), the Fire at
the Theatre (No. 94), the domestic tragedy of Eustace
(No. 172), the Shipwreck and the Wedding Day (both
contained in No. 82), and the Dream (No. 117). All these
tales have an artless, unpretending simplicity, and a charm
Sleek. '\ PERFECT STORIES BRIEFLY TOLD. lUS
quite unpremeditated, but which, is yet combined with a
reality and intensity of pathos, affecting to a degree that
the equally brief narrations of any other writer have never,
in our judgment, equalled. Of the Dream in especial the
contrivance is so inimitable, and the moral so impressive,
that within the same compass we know of nothing at all
approaching to its effect. A lover and his mistress are
toying and trifling together in a summer evening on Dover-
cHff ; she snatches a copy of verses from his hand and runs
before him ; he is eagerly following, when he beholds on
a sudden the ground sink under her, and she is dashed
down the height. " I said to myself, it is not in the
" power of Heaven to relieve me ! when I awaked,
" equally transported and astonished to see myself
" drawn out of an affliction which, the very moment
" before, appeared to me altogether inextricable."
This has been given to Addison, but it is certainly
Steele's.
It will be consonant with the emotion suggested by it
to pass, for our next example, to what is said of untimely
deaths in No. 181, one of the most tender and beautiful
essays that the Tatler contains. Such deaths, says Steele,
we are most apt to lament, so little are we able to make it
indifferent when a thing happens, though we know it
Cmust happen. " Thus we groan under life, and bewail
" those who are relieved from it.'' And especially he
applies this to his recollection of the many gallant, gay,
and agreeable spirits lost in war, where yet, he finely adds,
a We gather relief enough from their own contempt of
" death, to make that no evil which was approached
" with so much cheerfulness, and attended with so much
" honour." He then relates his saddest experience ;
recalling, in a few short sentences of great deHcacy, the
beauty, innocence, and untimely death of the girl he had
first loved. " The beauteous virgin ! how ignorantly did
" she charm, how carelessly excel ! O Death ! thou hast
" right to the bold, to the ambitious, to the high, and to
" the haughty ; but, why this cruelty to the humble, to
"the meek, to the undiscerning, to the thoughtless?
" Nor age, nor business, nor distress, can erase the dear
'' image from my imagination. In the same week, I saw
" her dressed for a ball, and in the shroud. How ill did
194 IDEAL OF A GENTLEMAN. [Sir Rickard
" the liabit of death become the pretty trifler. I still
" behold the smiling earth ''
Another treatment of the same grave theme is in the
noble character he draws of Addison, under the name of
Ignotus. What chiefly makes his friend become this life
so perfectly, he says, is his firm and unshaken expectation
of another ; and he lays it down as the only solid reason
for doing all things well, that a man should consider his
present being as an uncertain one, and think to reap an
advantage by its discontinuance. Such a one, Steele con-
tinues, does not behold his existence as a short, transient,
perplexing state, made up of trifling pleasures, and great
anxieties ; but he sees it in quite another light : his griefs
are momentary, and his joys immortal. Eeflection upon
death is not a gloomy and sad thought of resigning every-
thing that he delights in, but it is a short night followed
by an endless day. From all which, and from his friend's
ever easy and delightful manners, he draws the conclusion
that " to be a fine gentleman is to be a generous and a
" brave man." To the same conclusion, too, he brings
another thoroughly characteristic paper in JSTo. 246. It
is a wise essay on the toleration of one another's faults,
pointing out how faintly any excellence is received, and
how unmercifully every imperfection is exposed: from
which it occurs to him to suggest, that we should all be
more considerate to each other, and society a thousand
times more easy, if we could better familiarise ourselves
to the idea of mortality ; if we could bring ourselves to
the habit of seeing that we are strangers here, and that
it is unreasonable to expect we should have anything
about us as well as at our own home. All faults, he
thinks, might then be reduced into those which proceed
from malice or dishonesty ; it would quite change our
manner of beholding one another ; nothing that was not
below a man's nature would be below his character ; the
arts of this life would be proper advances towards the
next ; and a very good man would be a very fine gentle-
man. As it is now, human life is inverted, and we have
not learned half the knowledge of this world before we
are dropping into another. All which Steele winds up by
saying that old Dick Reptile, who does not want humour,
when he sees another old fellow at their club touchy at
Steele 7^ membeus of the trumpet club. 195
being laughed at for having fallen behind the mode,
bawls in his ear, " Prithee, don't mind him ; tell him
" thou art mortal."
Their club is the Trumpet, immortalised in No. 132 ;
and, out of the many such societies that owed their life to
Steele's untiring invention, and that live still by his wit,
we may select this one in especial for brief allusion.
Its members are smokers and old story-tellers, rather
easy than shining companions, promoting the thoughts
tranquilly bedward, and not the less comfortable to Mr.
Bickers taff because he finds himself the leading wit
among them. There is old Sir Jeffrey Notch, who has
had misfortunes in the "world, and calls every thriving
man a pitiful upstart, by no means to the general dis-
satisfaction ; there is Major Matchlock, who served in the
last civil wars, and every night tells them of his having
been knocked off his horse at the rising of the London
Apprentices, for which he is in great esteem ; there is
honest old Dick Reptile, who says little himself, but who
laughs at all the jokes ; and there is the elderly Bencher
of the Temple, next to Mr. Bickerstaff the wit of the
company, who has by heart ten couplets of Hudihras
which he regularly applies before leaving the club of an
evening, and who, if any modern wit or town frolic be
mentioned, shakes his head at the dulness of the present
age and tells a story of Jack Ogle. As for Mr. Bickerstaff
himself, he is esteemed among them because they see he .
is something respected by others ; but, though they con-
cede to him a great deal of learning, they credit him
mth small knowledge of the world, " insomuch that the
" Major sometimes, in the height of his mihtary pride,
" calls me the philosopher ; and Sir Jeffrey, no longer
" ago than last night, upon a dispute what day of the
" month it was then in Holland, pulled his pipe out of
" his mouth, and cried, * What does the Scholar say to
"'it?"
Supplementary to the sketch of these social companions
is the paper (208) in which Steele, with as intimate
knowledge of nature as of the world, describes the class
of easy friends : men with no shining quahties, but in a
certain degree above great imperfections ; who never
contradict us ; who gain upon us, not by a fulsome way
0 2
196 ORIGINAL OF BEAU TiBBs. \_Sir Richavd
of commending in broad terms, but by liking whatever
we propose to utter ; wbo at the same time are ready to
beg our pardons and gainsay us, if we chance to speak ill
of ourselves. *' We gentlemen of small fortunes,'' con-
tinues Steele with amusing candour, " are extremely
" necessitous in this particular. I have indeed one who
" smokes with me often ; but his parts are so low, that all
" the incense he does me is to fill his pipe with me, and
*' to be out at just as many whiffs as I take. This is all
" the praise or assent that he is capable of ; yet there are
" more hours when I would rather be in his company,
" than in that of the brightest man I know." Which of
us will take upon him to say that he has not had some
such experience ?
But perhaps the most consummately drawn of all his
characters is introduced in the essay, No. 127, in which
he discourses of, and illustrates in its humbler varieties,
that *' affection of the mind called pride " which appears
in such a multitude of disguises, every one feeling it in
himself, yet wondering to see it in his neighbours. Pur-
suing it to its detection and exposure under the semblance
of quite contrary habits and dispositions, he introduces,
as the most subtle example of it he had ever known, a
person for whom he had a great respect, as being an old
courtier and a friend of his in his youth. And then we
have a portrait of that kind which, though produced by
a few apparently careless touches, never fades, never
ceases to charm, and is a study for all succeeding times
and painters. " The man," says Steele, "has but a bare
" subsistence, just enough to pay his reckoning with us
" at the Trumpet ; but, by having spent the beginning of
" his life in the hearing of great men and persons of
'* power, he is always promising to do good offices and to
" introduce every man he converses with into the world.
" He will desire one of ten times his substance to let him
" see him sometimes, and hints to him that he does not
" forget him. He answers to matters of no consequence
" with great circumspection ; but, however, maintains a
" general civility in his words and actions, and an inso-
" lent benevolence to all whom he has to do with. This
" he practises with a grave tone and air ; and though I
" am his senior by twelve years, and richer by forty
Sleek.l PROFESSED WAGS. 197
" pounds per annum, lie had yesterday the impudence to
" commend me to my face and tell me * lie should be
" * always ready to encourage me.' In a word, he is a
" very insignificant fellow, but exceeding gracious." If
there is better observation or writing than this, in either
Tatler or Spectator^ we should be very glad to become
acquainted with it.
Another distemper of the mind is treated of in No. 227,
where he condemns the nil admirari as the shallowest of
doctrines ; points out the great mistake which Milton re-
presents the Devil making, when he can find nothing
even in Paradise to please him ; and looks upon a man as
afflicted with disease, when he cannot discern anything to
be agreeable which another is master of. "^V^e are to re-
member, Steele shrewdly says, that a man cannot have
an idea of perfection in another which he was never sensi-
ble of in himself; he is forced to form his conceptions of
ideas he has not, by tbose which he has ; and who is there,
asking an envious man what he thinks of "virtue, need
feel surprise if he should call it design, or of good
nature, if he should term it dullnessE^/lVith this we may
connect the very perfect description, in No. 184, of that
social nuisance, a professed wag ; which never in its life
beheld a beautiful object, but sees always what it does
see, in the most low and inconsiderable light it can be
placed in. The wag's gaiety, Steele adds, consists in a
certain professed ill-breeding, as if it were an excuse for
committing a fault that a man knows he does so ; but the
truth is, that his mind is too small for the abihty neces-
sary to behold what is amiable and worthy of approbation,
and this he attempts to hide by a disregard to everything
above what he is able to appreciate. A yet earher essay,
bearing somewhat upon the same matter, is in No. 92 :
where, contrary to the common notion, Steele declares
his belief that the love of praise dwells most in great and
heroic spirits ; and that it is those who best deserve it
who have generally the most exquisite relish of it. But
this also induces a corresponding sensibility to reproach,
which is the common weakness of a virtuous man ; and
for which the only cure is, that they should fix their re-
gard exclusively upon what is strictly true, in relation to
their advantage as well as diminution. " For if I am
198 LESSONS FROM LIFE. [6*/> Richavd
" pleased with commendation wMch. I do not deserve, I
" shall from the same temper be concerned at scandal I
" do not deserve. But he that can think of false applause
" with as much contempt as false detraction, will certainly
" he prepared for all adventures, and will become all
" occasions.'' Let us add, from an essay on impudence
in No. 168, as one of many admirable thoughts conceived
in the same noble spirit, that he notes it as a mean want
of fortitude in a good man, not to be able to do a virtuous
action with as much confidence as an impudent fellow
does an ill one.
For our next examples, shall we turn to the innumer-
able little sketches of individual character by which these
and other truths are so abundantly and pleasantly en-
forced, are vivified, and put into action ? No unattainable
impossible virtues, no abstract speculative vices, occupy
the page of Steele. As promptly as his heart or know-
ledge suggests, his imagination creates ; his fancies crowd,
in bodily form, into life ; everything with him becomes
actual ; and to all his airy nothings he has given lasting
habitation and a name.
Shall we take a lesson against over-easiness in temper
from the crafty old cit in No. 176, who, speaking of a
well-natured young fellow set up with a good stock in
Lombard-street, "I will," says he, " lay no more money
" in his hands, for he never denied me anything " ? Or
shall we introduce Tom Spindle from No. 47, who takes
to his bed on hearing that the French tyrant won't sign
the treaty of peace, he having just written a most excellent
poem on that subject ? Or, from the proof in number 173
that by the vanity of silly fathers half the only time for
education is lost, shall we make acquaintance with the
Shire-lane pastrycook who has an objection to take his
son from his learning, but is resolved, as soon as he has
a little smattering in the Greek, to put him apprentice to
a soap-boiler ?* Or, shall we illustrate the discredit which
^ This paper exposes with so much in what is taught to children of the
force an absurdity still prevalent in middle class, by devoting so much of
education, thatitwill be worth while the time, which, to fall in with their
to subjoin a few passages. Steele is ways and prospects in life, should be
laughing at the ridiculous way of spent in learning the useful arts, to
preferring the useless to the useful the over-cramming of Latin and
Steele.']
MISTAKES OF OVER -EDrCATIOX.
199
tlie morals of the stage tlien strove to cast upon marriage,
and the separate beds, the silent tables, and the solitary
homes, which it was the sole ambition of your men of wit
and pleasure to contribute to, by presenting, from No.
159, the country squire who set up for a man of the town,
and went home " in the gaiety of his heart " to beat his
Greek, and those kind of accom-
plishments wliich they only acquire
to forget, or to find utterly useless
in their after career. It arises, he
says, " from the vanity of parents who
' ' are wonderfully delighted with the
" thought of breeding their children
*' to accomplishments, which they
*' believe nothing but want of the
' ' same care in their own fathers
*' prevented themselves from being
'* masters of. Thus it is, that the
** part of life most fit for improve-
*' ment is generally employed in a
*' method against the bent of na-
** ture ; and a lad of such parts as
" are fit for an occupation where
" there can be no calls out of the
' ' beaten path, is two or three years
* ' of his time wholly taken up in
" knowing how well Ovid's mis-
'* tress became such a dress, how
" such a nymph for her cruelty
'* was changed into such an animal,
" and how it is made generous in
'* ^neas to put Turnus to death :
'* gallantries that can no more come
" within the occurrences of the lives
" of ordinary men, than they can be
'* relished by their imaginations.
* * However, still the humour goes on
*' from one generation to another ;
" and the pastrycook here in the
" lane, the other night, told me he
" would not yet take away his son
' ' from his learning, but has re-
" solved, as soon as he had a little
*' smattering in the Greek, to put
" him apprentice to a soap-boiler.
* * These wrong beginnings determine
** our success in the world ; and
*' when our thoughts are originally
*' falsely biassed, their agility and
*' force do but carry us the further
*' out of our way, in proportion to
" our speed. We are half way
*• our journey, when we have got
' into the right road. But if all
* our days were usefully employed,
* and we did not set out imperti-
' nently, we should not have so
' many grotesque professors in all
' the arts of life ; every man would
* be in a proper and becoming me-
* thod of distinguishing or enter-
' taining himself, suitably to what
' nature designed him. As they go
' on now, our parents do not only
* force us upon what is against our
' talents, but our teachers are also
' as injudicious in what they put us
* to learn. I have hardly ever since
' sufi"ered so much by the charms
' of any beauty, as I did before I
' had a sense of passion, for not ap-
' prehending that the smile of Lalage
' was what pleased Horace ; and I
* verily believe, the stripes I suf-
' fered siboai iJigito male pertinad
' have given me that irreconcilable
* aversion which I shall carry to
' my grave against coquettes."
After that pleasant biographical
touch, Steele goes on to characterise
Horace with much wit and shrewd-
ness ; and, quoting what he had heard
a great painter say as to there being
certain faces for certain painters as
well as certain subjects for ceiiain
poets, he adds, " This is as true in
' ' the choice of studies ; and no
" one will ever relish an author
** thoroughly well who woiijd not
" have been fit company for that
*' author, had they lived at the
' ' same time. All others are me-
** chanics in learning, and take the
" sentiments of writers like waiting-
" servants who repeat what passed
'* at their master's table, but de-
" base every thought and expres-
" sion for Avant of the air with
** which they were uttered."
200 SKETCHES OF CHARACTER. \_Sir Richavd
wife ? Or shall we profit by the lecture, read in No. 210,
to the very fine and very censorious lady of quality, who
is for ever railing at the vices of the age, meaning only
the single vice she is not guilty of herself; and whose
cruelty to a poor girl, who, whatever imperfections may
rest on her, is in her present behaviour modest, sensible,
pious, and discreet, is indignantly rebuked by Mr. Bicker-
staff ? Or shall we pursue the same subject in No. 217,
and, concerning the same too numerous class, who, be-
cause no one can call them one ugly name, think them-
selves privileged to bestow all kinds of ugly epithets upon
every body else, humbly conceive with Mr. Bickerstaff
that such ladies have a false notion of a modest woman ;
and dare to say that the side-boxes would supply better
wives than many who pass upon the world and them-
selves for modest, and whose husbands know every pain
in life with them except jealousy ? Or shall we take a
different lesson from Jenny Distaff's conversation with
her brother Isaac in No. 1 04, when, being asked the help
of his magic to make her always beautiful to her husband,
he shows her how an inviolable fidelity, good humour,
and complacency of temper, may outlive all the charms
of the prettiest face, and make the decays of it invisible ?
Or shall we observe, in No. 151, the unexpected sources
of pride in the two sisters, one of whom holds up her
head higher than ordinary from having on a pair of
striped garters ; or, in No. 127, the fantastic forms of it
in the cobbler of Ludgate-hill, who, being naturally a
lover of respect, and considering that his circumstances
are such that no man living will give it him, reverses the
laws of idolatry which require the man to worship the
image, and contrives an inferior to himself in the wooden
figure of a beau, which, hat in one hand and in posture
of profound deference, holds out obsequiously in the other
what is needful to its master's occasions ? Or, from what
is told us in No. 112 of the mischief done in the world
from a want of occupation for idle hours, shall we see
reason to think an able statesman out of business like a
huge whale that will endeavour to overturn the ship,
unless he has an empty cask to play with ; and to wish with
Mr. Bickerstaff, for the good of the nation, that many
famous politicians could but take pleasure in feeding
Steele.~\ ox the wroxgs of authors. 201
ducks ? Or, finally, shall we turn to that ponderous
politician but small philosopher, in No. 171, who, with a
very awful brow and a countenance full of weight, pro-
nounces it a great misfortune " that men of letters seldom
*' look into the bottom of things.''
That men of letters might always look to Steele for
their heartiest champion, it would not have been needful
to add, but for a proof of it in No. 101 too characteristic
not to be mentioned. As on a former occasion we saw Addi-
son, when the grief of his friend seemed to break his utter ^
ance, with a calm composure taking up his theme simply
to moderate its pain ; so, in this paper, to which also both
contribute, and of which the exquisite opening humour
closes abruptly in generous indignation, we may see each,
according to his different nature, moved by an intolerable
wrong. Of the maltreatment of authors, in regard to
copyright, both are speaking ; and, high above the irresist-
ible laugh which Addison would raise against a law that
makes only rogues and pirates prosperous, rings out the
clear and manly claim of Steele to be allowed to speak in
the cause of learning itself, and to lament that a liberal
education should be the only one which a pohte nation,
makes unprofitable, and that the only man who cannot get
protection from his country should be he that best deserves
it. According to the ordinary rules of computation, he
says, the greater the adventure, the greater should be the
profit of those who succeed : yet he implores his countrymen
to consider, how expensive is the voyage which is under-
taken in the search of knowledge ; how few there are who
gather in any considerable merchandise ; how fewer still
are those able to turn what they have so gained into profit :
and then he asks the question, which it is the disgrace of
two subsequent centuries to have left still imperfectly
answered, whether it is not " hard, indeed, that the very
" small number who are distinguished with abilities to
" know how to vend their wares, and have the good for-
" tune to bring them into port, should sufi'er plunder
" by privateers under the very cannon that should protect
"them?''
Nor less characteristic of that generous nature which
reserved its sympathies for no single class, but could enter
familiarly into all conditions, and to which nothing could
202 SOLDIERS UNDER MARLBOROUGH. \_Sir Richard
be foreign ttat concerned humanity, is that paper, No. 87,
which in the present crisis of our history ^ should not be
the least interesting to us of all the Tatlers. Those, too,
were days of war and foreign siege ; and while a chorus
of continual praise was going up to Marlborough and
Eugene, Steele bethought him to single out, as not less
worthy of celebration, the courage and feeling of the
private soldier. He sets before us, therefore, as dropped
by his servant in dressing him, a supposed letter from
one Serjeant Hall to Serjeant Cabe, "in the Coldstream
*' regiment of Foot Guards, at the Red Lettice in the
" Butcher-row, near Temple-bar," by which he would
show us the picture of what he calls the very bravest sort
of men, "a man of great courage and small hopes," and would
exemplify the dignity of human nature in all states of life.
The letter itself is what we have lately seen, in a hundred
forms, from the humble heroes of Alma and Inkermann ;
it is just such an honest masterpiece, as any of those which
have made hearts throb and eyes glisten lately ; and, that
the good Serjeant himself might have written it, will
sufficiently appear from what Steele proceeds pleasantly
to say of it. " This is, said I, truly a letter, and an
" honest representation of that cheerful heart which
*' accompanies the poor soldier in his warfare. Is not
*' there, in this, all the topic of submitting to our destiny
*' as well discussed as if a greater man had been placed,
" like Brutus in his tent at midnight, reflecting on all the
" occurrences of past life, and saying fine things on Being
" itself ? What Serjeant Hall knows of the matter is, that
*' he wishes there had not been so many killed ; and he had
" himself a very bad shot in the head ; and should recover
*' if it pleased God. But, be that as it will, he takes care,
*' like a man of honour as he certainly is, to let the widow
" Stevenson know that he had seven and three-pence for
" her, and that, if he lives, he is sure he shall go into
" garrison at last. I doubt not but all the good company
" at the Red Lettice drank his health with as much real
" esteem as we do of any of our friends." More thought-
fully Steele adds, with the warmth and wisdom of his
generous nature : " If we consider the heap of an army,
^ This Essay was written during the War with Russia.
Steele.\ personal experiences. 203
" utterly out of all prospect of rising and preferment, as
" they certainly are, and such great things executed by
" them, it is hard to account for the motive of their gal-
" lantry ; but to me, who know very well this part of
*' mankind, I take it to proceed from the same, if not
" from a nobler impulse, than that of gentlemen and
" officers. They have the same taste of being acceptable
" to their friends ; and they go through the difficulties of
" that profession by the same irresistible charm of fellow-
" ship, and the communication of joys and sorrows, which
" quickens the relish of pleasure, and abates the anguish
*' of pain. Add to this, that they have the same regard
" to fame, though they do not expect so great a share as
" men above them hope for ; but I will engage Serjeant
" Hall would die ten thousand deaths, rather than a word
** should be spoken, at the Red Lettice or any part of the
" Butcher-row, in prejudice to his courage or honesty."
There spoke a personal experience, as well as a kind
heart and a just philosophy. Steele knew very wtII, as
he says, that part of mankind, for in the army he had him-
self mixed with them. Nor will it be inappropriate to
interpose, before we pass to our brief sketch of his actual
career, allusion to two more papers in which actual ex-
periences are written, and where the charm of his natural
style is carried to exquisite perfection.
He describes himself, in No. 263, going to call on a
country friend at eight o'clock in the evening, and finding
him gone to bed. Next morning he goes at eleven, and
finds him sat down to dinner. This leads Steele to a
whimsical description of modern hours, which he com-
pares with the unchanging habits of other creatures.
The lark, he observes, rises as early as he did formerly,
and the cock begins to crow at his usual hour : whereas,
in his own memory, the dinner has crept by degrees from
twelve o'clock to three, so that where it will fix, nobody
knows ; and as for supper, it is so encroached upon that
it has been even banished from many families. Yet how
many midnight hours will it take the libertine, or the
woman of fashion, adequately to replace the loss of a single
hour of morning ! " When I find myself awakened into
" being and perceive my life renewed within me, and at
" the same time see the whole face of nature recovered
204 MORXiNG AND NIGHT. [Sit' RicJiard
" out of the dark uncomfortable state in which, it lay for
" several hours, my heart overflows with such secret sen-
" timents of joy and gratitude as are a kind of implicit
" praise to the great Author of nature. The mind, in
" these early seasons of the day, is so refreshed in all
" her faculties, and borne up with such new supplies of
" animal spirits, that she finds herself in a state of youth ;
" above all, when the breath of flowers entertains her, the
^' melody of birds, the dews that hang upon the plants,
" and all those other sweets of nature that are peculiar
" to the morning. But, who can have this relish of being,
" this exquisite taste of life, who does not come into the
" world before it is in all its noise and hurry ? who loses
" the rising of the sun, the still hours of the day ; and,
" immediately upon his first getting up, plunges into the
" ordinary cares or follies of the world.**
Not to cheerfulness, however, but to sorrow, and not
to the still hours of day, but to those of night, the last
paper invites us, with which we close our appeal from
Mr. Macaulay's judgment.
It is a paper of sadness and self-examination.' Con-
scious of having been surrendering too much time to plea-
sure, he desires to correct the present by recollections of the
past, to cast back his thoughts on those who had been
dear and agreeable to him, to ponder step by step on the
life that was gone, and to revive old places of grief in his
memory. " When we wind up a clock that is out of order,
" to make it go well for the future, we do not immediately
" set the hand to the present instant, but we make it
" strike the round of all its hours, before it can recover
" the regularity of its time. Such, thought I, shall be
" my method this evening ; which I dedicate to such in
" another life, as I much delighted in when living." But
we can only take, from this charming and most touching
retrospect, his earliest recollection and his earliest grief.
" The first sense of sorrow I ever knew was upon the
" death of my father, at which time I was not quite five
" years of age; but was rather amazed at what all the
" house meant, than possessed with a real understanding
" why nobody was willing to play with me. I remember
1 TatUr, No. 181.
Steele.^ a child's earliest guief. - 205
" I went into the room where Ms body lay, and my
" mother sat weeping alone by it. I haci my battledore
" in my hand, and fell a beating the coifin, and calling
*' Papa ; for, I know not how, I had some slight idea that
" he was locked up there. My mother catched me in her
" arms, and, transported beyond all patience of the silent
^' grief she was before in, she almost smothered me in her
" embraces, and told me in a flood of tears, * Papa could
" * not hear me, and would play with me no more, for
" ' they were going to put him under ground, whence he
" ' could never come to us again.' She was a very beau-
" tiful woman, of a noble spirit, and there was a dignity
" in her grief amidst all the wildness of her transport
" which, methought, struck me with an instinct of sorrow,
" that, before I was sensible of what it was to grieve,
" seized my very soul, and has made pity the weakness
" of my heart ever since." And so, strengthened by love,
if weakened by pity, began the life of Richard Steele.
/Y His family on the father's side were English, but he
had an Irish mother ; and in Dublin, where his father
held the office of secretary to the first Duke of Ormond,
he was born in 1675. The Duke was one of the governors
of Charter-house ; and there Richard Steele was placed,
as soon as he could be entered after his father's death.
He remained till he was seventeen ; and from his ready
scholarship of after years, as well as from the kind ex-
pressions long interchanged between him and its old head-
master. Dr. Ellis, he may be assumed to have passed
fairly through the school. .Of his positive acquisitions
only one is known, but it is by far the most important.
Not the glory of his having carried off every prize and
exhibition attainable, if such had been his, would have
interested us half so much as the fact, that here began
his friendship with Joseph Addison./^'
The son of the Dean of Lichfield was three years older
than Steele, who was a lad of only twelve, when, at the
age of fifteen, Addison went up to Oxford. Three years
at that age are the measure of submission or authority ;
and, through life, Steele never lost the habit of looking up
206 • SCHOOL D^YS AND COLLEGE DAYS. [StT RtcJiard
at his friend, rile went himself to Oxford in 1692, at
the head of that year's post-masters for Merton ; hut his
intercourse with the scholar of Magdalen had not ceased
in the interval. Pleasant traces are left for us which
connect the little fatherless lad with visitings to Addison's
father, who loved him^-^^ Like one of his own children he
loved me ! exclaimed 'Steele, towards the close of his life.
Those children, too, apart from his famous schoolfellow,
he thanks for their affection to him ; and among the pos-
sessions of his youth retained until death, was a letter in
the handwriting of the good old Dean, giving "his
" blessing on the friendship between his son and me."
The little black-eyed dusky-faced lad had made himself
popular at the Lichfield deanery ; and he brought away
from it, we will not doubt, that first ineffaceable impression
which remained alike through the^weakness and the
strength of his future years, tha^s^ligion was a part
of goodness, and that cheerfulness should be inseparable
from piet^^^
Entered of Merton in 1692, his college career is soon
told. Having passed three years in a study of which he
showed afterwards good use, and in a companionship
which confirmed not the least memorable of friendships,
he left Oxford with the love of " the whole society," ' but
without a degree, after writing a comedy which was per-
haps as strong a recommendation to the one as a disquali-
fication for the other. He burnt that comedy, however,
on a friend telling him it was not worth keeping. Quick,
inventive, and ardent ; easy and sweet in temper, social
and communicative in tastes ; with eager impulses and
warm affections, but yet forming his opinions for himself,
and giving them shape and efiicacy without regard to con-
sequences ; the Dick Steele of Merton, was the same Mr.
Steele and Sir Richard of Hampton and Bloomsbury, to
whose maturer philosophy many charming illustrations
have attracted us in the foregoing pages. Having desired
his friend's advice about his comedy, he had too much
sincerity and too little pride not at once to act upon it ;
but he was also too impatient not to ask himself after-
wards, If he was to fail as a wit and a writer, in what
* BiograpTiia Britannica, vi. 3823.
Steele^ ' in the horse guards. 207
other direction lay tlie chances of success ? -Already a
hot politician, and entering with all his heart into the
struggle of which the greatest champion now sat on the
English throne, might he not at any rate, on his hero's
behalf, throw a sword if not a pen into the scale ? He
would be a soldie^ He would, as he says, plant himself
behind King William the Third against Louis the Four-
teenth. But here he was met by determined opposition ;
and a rich relative of his mother, who had named him heir
to a large estate in Wexford, threatened to disinherit him
if he took that course. He took it, and was disinherited ;
giving the express reason, many years later, that, when
he so cocked his hat, put on a broad sword, jack -boots,
and shoulder-belt, and mounted a war-horse, under the
unhappy Duke of Ormond's command, he teas not ac-
quainted with his own parts, and did not know, what he
had since discovered, that he could handle a pen more
effectively than a sword.' ^^^hat do we see, in all this,
but an earlier form of the philosophy of the TatJer, that
you must he the thing you would seem to be, and in some
form manage to do what you think it right should be
done^iX'
Baffled in his hope to obtain a commission, Steele
entered the army as a private in the Horse Guards, pre-
ferring, as he characteristically expresses it, the state of
his mind to that of his fortune. Soon, however, the
qualities which made him the delight of his comrades,
obtained him a cornetcy in the regiment ; and not long
after, through the interest of its colonel. Lord Cutts, to
whom he had acted as private secretary, he got a company
in Lord Lucas's fusiliers, and became Captain Steele.
Then began the experiences and temptations he has him-
self described. He found it, he says, a way of life exposed
to much irregularity ; and, being thoroughly convinced of
many things, of which he often repented and which he
more often repeated, he writ, for lus own private use, a
little book called the Christian Hero? Nevertheless, this
little book is not exactly what the good Dr. Drake, and
many before him and since, appear to have thought it.
You would suppose, from what is said of it, that it was
1 The Theatre^ No. xi. 2 Apology, p. 296.
208
THE CHRISTIAN HERO. \_Sir Richavd
" a valuable little manual " of religious exercises for use
in " the intervals snatclied from the orgies of voluptuous-
" ness." But it is by no means this, nor anything else
that would amount to such sheer fooling and face-making.
Steele had too humble and pious a faith in religion to
expose it to ridicule from the unscrupulous companions
he lived with. How large and longing is the mind of
man, compared with the shortness of his life and the
frailty of his desires, he knew ; and, that his own thoughts
were better than his practice, it was no discredit to him
also to know. But it was not to set up the one either as
a cloak or a contrast to the other, that he wrote the Chris-
tian Hero. It was not a book of either texts or prayers.
There was nothing in it that a man conscious of all infir-
mities might not write ; but there was also that in it
which must have made its writer more conscious of his
powers than he had been till then, and which influenced
his future perhaps more than any one has supposed.'
1 Perhaps Steele has no where so
beautifully expressed the spirit in
which he wrote this book, than by
that fine paper (No. 27) of the
Spectator, in which he says : * ' There
' is scarce a thinking man in the
' world, who is involved in the
' business of it, but lives under a
* secret impatience of the hurry
' and fatigue he suffers, and has
* formed a resolution to fix himself,
* one time or another, in such a
' state as is suitable to the end of
' his being. You hear men every
' day in conversation profess that
' all the honour, power, and riches
* which they propose to themselves,
' cannot give satisfaction enough to
' reward them for half the anxiety
' they undergo in the pursuit or
* possession of them. While men
' are in this temper (which hap-
* pens very frequently), how in-
' consistent are they with them-
* selves ! They are wearied with
' the toil they bear, but cannot
' find in their hearts to relinquish
* it ; retirement is what they want,
' but they cannot betake them-
' selves to it ; while they pant after
shade and covert, they still affect
to appear in the most glittering
scenes of life : but sure this is
only just as reasonable, as if a
man should call for more lights
when he has a mind to go to sleep .
*' Since, then, it is certain that
our own hearts deceive us in
the love of the world, and that
we cannot command ourselves
enough to resign though we every
day wish ourselves disengaged
from its allurements, let us not
stand upon a formal taking of
leave, but wean ourselves from
these, while we are in the midst
of them.
"It is certainly the general in-
tention of the greater part of
mankind to accomplish this work,
and live according to their own
approbation, as soon as they pos-
sibly can ; but since the duration
of life is so uncertain, and that
this has been a common topic of
discourse ever since there was
such a thing as life itself, how is
it possible that we should defer a
moment the beginning to live ac-
coiduig to the rules of reason ?
Steele.'] belief and uxbelief. 209
P^ At the outset of it lie tells you that men of business,
^ whatever they may think, have not nearly so much to do
with the government of the world as men of wit ; but that
the men of wit of that age had made a grave mistake in
disregarding religion and decency. He attributes it to
classical associations, that, being scholars, they are so
much more apt to resort to Heathen than to Christian
examples ; and to correct this error he proposes to show,
by a series of instances, how inadequate to all the great
needs of life is the Heathen, and how sufficient the Chris-
tian moraHty. Anticipating and answering Gibbon, he
looks upon it as a special design of Providence that the
time when the world received the best news it evej* heard,
was also that wherein the warriors and philosophers whose
virtues are most pompously arrayed in story should h^ive
been performing, or just have finished, their parts, -^e
then introduces, with elaborate portraiture of their great-
ness, Cato, the younger Brutus, and other characters of
antiquity ; that he may also display them, in their mo-
ments of highest necessity, deprived of their courage, and
deserted by their gods. By way of contrast he next ex-
hibits, " from a certain neglected Book, which is called,
" and from its excellence above all other books deservedly
" called. The Scripture," what the Christian system is ;
handling it with no thfeological pretension, but as the
common inheritance vouchsafed to us all. He finds in
the Sermon on the Mount " the whole heart of man dis-
" covered by Him that made it, and all our secret im-
*' The man of business has ever *' wherever we are, till they are
* ' some one point to carry, and then ' ' conquered ; and we can never
" he tells himself he'll bid adieu to "live to our satisfaction in the
" all the vanity of ambition; the " deepest retirement, unless we are
" man of pleasure resolves to take " capable of so living in some mea-
' ' his leave at last, and part civilly ' ' sure amidst the noise and business
'* with his mistress. But the am- " of the world.''
" bitious man is entangled every And so, when that problem is
" moment in a fresh pursuit, and solved as the kindly philosopher
' ' the lover sees new charms in the would have solved it, we shall have
'* object he fancied he could aban- men at last living really in the day
' ' don. It is, therefore, a fantas- that is present, and not putting life
' * tical way of thinking, when we continually off until to-morrow ; or
" promise ourselves an alteration in to that some other time, which is so
" our conduct from change of place, little likely, for any of us, ever to
' ' and difference of circumstances. arrive.
*' The same passions will attend us
210 FORESHADOWING OF THE TATLER. [Sir Richard
" pulses to ill, and false appearances of good, exposed and
" detected ; " he shows through what storms of want and
misery it had been , able to bear unscathed the early
martyrs and apostl^ and, in demonstration of the world's
present inattention to its teaching, he tells them that,
after all they can say of a man, let them but conclude that
he is rich, and they have made him friends, nor have
they utterly overthrown him till they have said he is poor.
In other words, a sole consideration to prosperity had
taken, in their imaginations, the place of Christianity ;
and, what is there that is not lost, pursues kind-hearted
Steele, in that which is thus displaced? " For Chris-
" tianity has that in it which makes men pity, not scorn,
" the wicked ; and, by a beautiful kind of ignorance of
" themselves, think those wretches their equals." It
aggravates all the benefits and good offices of life by
making them seem fraternal, and its generosity is an en-
larged self-love. The Christian so feels the Avants of the
miserable, that it sweetens the pain of the obliged ; he
gives with an air that has neither oppression nor superio-
rity in it ; " and is always a benefactor with the mien of
" a receiver."
In an expression already quoted from the Tatter^ we
have seen a paraphrase of these last few words ; but indeed
Mr. Bickerstaff's practical and gentle philosophy, not less
than his language, is anticipated by Captain Steele. The
sj^mtfl^o^^Jthe same. The leading purpose in both
'is feneariy sympathy with humanity : a belief, as both
.express it, that "it is not possible for a human heart to
" be averse to anything that is human ;" a desire to link
the highest associations to the commonest things ; a faith
in the compatibility of mirth with virtue ; the wish to
smooth life's road by the least acts of benevolence as well
as by the greatest ; and the lesson so to keep our under-
standings balanced, that things shall appear to us " great
" or little as they are in nature, notas they are gilded or
" suUied by accident and fortune. j^^iThe thoughts and
expressions, as may be seen in these quoted, are fre-
quently the same ; each has the antithetical turns and
verbal contrasts, " the proud submission, the dignified
" obedience," which is a peculiarity of Steele's manner ;
in both, we have the author aiming far less to be author
Steele.'] town and the wits. 211
than to be companion ; and there is even a passage in
this Christian Hero which brings rustling about us the
hoops and petticoats of Mr. Bickerstaff's Chloes and
Clarissas. He talks of the coarseness and folly, the
alternate rapture and contempt, with which women are
treated by the wits ; he desires to see the love they in-
spire taken out of that false disguise, and put in its own
gay and becoming dress of innocence ; and he tells us that
" in their tender frame there is native simplicity, ground-
" less fear, and little unaccountable contradictions, upon
" which there might be built expostulations to divert a
" good and intelligent young woman, as well as the ful-
" some raptures, guilty impressions, senseless deifications,
" and pretended deaths, that are every day offered her."
Captain Steele dedicates his little book to Lord Cutts ;
dates it from the Tower Guard ; and winds it up with a
parallel between the French and the English king, not
unbecoming a Christian soldier. But surely, as we read
it on to its close, the cocked hat, the shoulder-belt, the
jack-boots disappear ; and we have before us, in gown
and slippers, the Editor of the Tatler. Exit the soldier,
and enter the wit.
The publication of the Christian Hero, in 1701, is cer-
tainly the point of transition. He says himself that after
it he was not thought so good a companion, and that he
found it necessary to enliven his character by another
kind of writing. The truth is that he had discovered, at
last, what ^ he best could do ; and where in future he
was to mount guard, was not at the Tower, or under
command of my Lord Cutts, but at the St. James's coffee-
house, or \Yiirs, in waiting on Mr. Congreve. The
author of the Old Bachelor and Love for Love now sat
in the chair just vacated by Dryden ; and appears to
have shown unusual kindness to his new and promising
recruit. In a letter of this date, he talks of Dick Steele
with an agreeable air of cordiality ; and such was then
Mr. Congreve's distinction, that his mere notice was no
trifling feather in the cap of an ex-captain of Fusileers.
" I hope I may have leave to indulge my vanity,"
says Steele, "by telling all the world that Mr. Con-
" greve is my friend." The Muses Mercunj not only
told the world the same thing, but published verses
p 2
5^12 W^^^ COMEDY PLAYED. \_Sir Ruhard
of the new Whig wit, and threw out hints of a forth-
coming comedy.
The Funeral, or Grief a la Mode, Steele's first dramatic
production, was played at Drury Lane in 1702. Yery
sprightly and pleasant throughout, it was full of telling
hits at lawyers and undertakers ; and, with a great many
laughable incidents, and no laugh raised at the expense of
virtue or decency, it had one character (the widow on
whom the artifice of her husband's supposed death is
played off) which is a masterpiece of comedy. Guards-
men and Fusileers mustered strong on the first night ; in
the prologue, " a fellow soldier " made appeal to their
soldierly S3rmpathies ; Gibber, Wilks, Norris, and Mrs.
Oldfield were in the cast ; and the success was complete.
One can imagine the enjoyment of the scene where the
undertaker reviews his regiment of mourners, and singles
out for indignant remonstrance one provokingly hale,
well -looking mute. " You ungrateful scoundrel, did not
" I pity you, take you out of a great man's ser\ice, and
" show you the pleasure of receiving wages ? Did not I
" give you ten, then fifteen, now twenty shillings a week,
'* to be sorrowful. A^id the more I give yoii, I think the
" gladder you are /" But this was a touch that should
have had for its audience a company of Addisons rather
than of gay Fusileers and Guardsmen. Sydney Smith,
indeed, who delighted in it, used to think it Addison's ;
but certainly Steele's first comedy had no insertion from
that masterly hand. When it was written Addison was
in Italy, when it was acted he was in Geneva ; and he
did not return to England, after an absence of more
than four years, till towards the close of the following
autumn.
He found his friend not only established among the
wits, but enrolled in that most select body of their number
who drank Whig toasts at the Kit-Katt, with the prudent
Mr. Tonson at one end of the table and the proud Duke
of Somerset at the other. For, the comedy had brought
him repute in high Whig quarters, and even the notice of
the King. He was justly proud of this. It was much to
say, from experience, that nothing could make the town so
fond of a man as a successful play ; but more to have it
to remember that " his name to be provided for, was in
Steele^^
NOCTES CCENtEQUE deorum. 213
" the la§t table-book ever worn by tbe glorious and
" immortal William the Third." ' Yes, the last. Be-
tween the acting of his comedy and the arrival of his
friend, their great sovereign had ceased to be mortal.
Somewhat sad were Whig prospects, therefore, when
Addison again grasped Steele by the hand; but the
Kit-Katt opened its doors eagerly to the new comer, the
first place at Will's and the St. James's was conceded to
him, and the Nodes Ccenceque Deorum began. Many
have described and glorified them; and Steele coupled
them in later years mth a yet rarer felicity, when he
had to tell of "nights spent with him apart from all
" the world," in the freedom and intimacy of their old
school days of Charter-house, and their College walks by
the banks of the Cherwell. There is no such thing as
real conversation, Addison used to say, but between two
persons; and after nights so passed, Steele could only
think of his friend as combining in himself all the wit and
nature of Terence and Catullus, heightened with a humour
more exquisite and delightful than either possessed, or
than was ever the property of any other man.
Of course Captain Steele (for so, according to Mr,
Dennis, he continued to be called at the theatres)^ had by
1 Apology, p. 227. territories, and (prefacing thus his
2 How popular Steele was at the recommendation of the young poet,
theatres, and himself how fond of Leonard Welsted, to instruct whom
them, needs hardly to be said. in the art of comedy he has asked
Some of his finest pieces of criti- Gibber and Wilks to act the Care-
cism are on Betterton and East- less Husband) he goes on to give a
court. He describes himself, as Mr. specimen of his most nicely discri-
Bickei'staff, carrying his little cousin minative criticism. A brief passage
to see the Hamlet of the great tra- will sufiice : "It is," he says, " a
gedian, and tells us he shalUalways '' very good office one man does
love the little chap for his partiality " another, when he tells him the
in all that concerned the fortune of ' ' manner of his being pleased ; and
Hamlet. "This," he continues, '* I have often thought that a com-
" is entering youth into the affec- " ment upon the capacities of the
" tions and passions of manhood " players would very much improve
" beforehand, and, as it were, ante- " the delight that way, and impart
" dating the effects we hope from a '• it to those who otherwise have no
" long and liberal education." In "sense of it. The first of the
the same spirit is that delightful '' present stage are Wilks and
paper (182) in which, after speaking "Gibber, perfect actors in their
of Eugenie's gallery of fine pictures, "different kinds. Wilks has a
and the grand woods and fields of " singular talent in representing
Crassus, he says, that the players " the graces of nature ; Gibber the
are his pictures and the scenes his ' * deformity in the affectation of
^14 THE TENDER HUSBAJ^D. \_Sir Richard
this time begun another comedy, and from his friend he
received for it not a few of what he generously said after-
wards were its most applauded strokes. Nor is it difficult,
we think, to trace Addison's hand in the Tender Husband.
There is a country squire and justice of the quorum in
it, perhaps the very first the stage had in those days
brought from his native fields for any purpose more inno-
cent than to have horns clapped on his head ; and, in the
scenes with him and his lumpish nephew, there is a height-
ened humour we are disposed to give to Addison. But
Steele's rich invention, and careless graces, are also very
manifest throughout ; and in the dialogues of the romance-
stricken niece and her lover, from which Sheridan bor-
rowed, and in that of the niece and her bumpkin of a
cousin, to which even Goldsmith was somewhat indebted,
we have pure and genuine comedy. The mistake of the
piece, as of its predecessor, is the occasional disposition to
reform morals rather than to paint manners ; for the rich
vein which the Tatler worked to such inimitable uses,
yielded but scantily to the working of the stage. But the
Tender Sushand, admirably acted by Wilks, Norris, and
Eastcourt, and above all by Mrs. Oldfield in that love-lorn
Parthenissa, Biddy Tipkin, well deserved its success.
Before its production there had arrived the glorious news
" them. Were I a writer of plays, that the same justice should be done
'* I should never employ either of to them. "Mr, William Bullock,"
'* them in parts which had not their he says, "and Mr. William Pen-
" bent this way. This is seen in " kethman are of the same age,
' ' the inimitable strain and run of ' * profession, and sex. They both
** good humour which is kept up in ** distinguish themselves in a very
** the character of Wildair, and in the " particular manner under the dis-
'* nice and delicate abuse of under- " ciplyie of the crab-tree, with this
•' standing in that of Sir Novelty. " only difference, that Mr. Bullock
** Gibber, in another light, hits ** has the more agreeable squall,
*' exquisitely the flat civility of an '* and Mr. Penkethman the more
"affected gentleman -usher, and " graceful shrug. Penkethman de-
" Wilks the easy frankness of a " vours a cold chick with great
"gentleman." Nothing could be "applause; Bullock's talent chiefly
better said than that. Nor must I " lies in asparagus. Penkethman
omit what he afterwards wrote " is very dexterous at conveying
(No. 188) by way of a parody on " himself under a table ; Bullock is
this criticism, but with infinite good " no less active at jumping over a
humour in the satire, in answer to " stick. Mr. Penkethman has a
a demand from two walking gentle- " great deal of money ; but Mr.
men of the stage, Mr. William Bui- " Bullock is the taller man."
lock, and Mr. William Penkethman,
Steele?^ -svhig prospects brightening. 215
of Blenheim, and Steele flung in some 'WL.iggish. and
patriotic touches. Addison wrote the prologue, and to
Addison the piece was dedicated : the author taking that
means of declaring pubKcly to the world that he looked
upon this intimacy as the most valuable enjoyment of his
life, and hoping also to make the Town no ill compliment
for their kind acceptance of his comedy by acknowledging,
that this had so far raised his own opinion of it as to make
him think it no improper memorial of an inviolable friend-
ship. To Addison he addressed at the same time a more
private \\dsh, which lay very near his heart. " I told him
*' there was nothing I so ardently wished, as that we
" might sometime or other publish a work written by us
" both, which should bear the name of The Monument, in
" memory of our friendship." ^ Such a work, imder a live-
lier title, not planned with that view by either friend, was
soon to perpetuate, and inseparably to connect, the names
ofboth.
/^^eauAvhile, after two or three years of adversity and
depression, the Whig cause had again brightened^ The
great foreign policy of William coerced, as with a spell,
the purposes of his successors ; and again, with the victory
of Blenheim, Whig principles obtained the mastery. But,
in the interval of gloomy and variable weather, many
changes had by degrees become also perceptible in the
places of resort which the wits made famous. The coffee-
house had ceased to be any longer such neutral ground as
it had formerly been. Men are more jealous of their
opinions when their opinions are less prosperous, more
eager themselves to chamgion them, and less tolerant of
others who oppose them.'''ljiterature itself took insensibly
a stronger tone, and a higher position, in those stormy and
threatening days. It was the only direct communication
between the men who governed the State, and the people
from whom, if the Act of Settlement was to have any
authority, they received their sole commission to govern '-^
Halifax, Somers, Sunderland, Co^vper, indeed all the lead-
ing Whig lords, knew this thoroughly ; and if they had
acted on it less partially, they would have kept their
ground better than they did. "When Mr. Mackey, in his
1 The Spectator, No. 555.
216 WITS AT THE ST. JAMEs's. [_Sir Richard
Memoirs of his Secret Services, says of Halifax that lie
was a great encourager of learning and learned men,
Swift grimly writes in the margin that " his encourage-
" ments were only good words and dinners." But that at
any rate was something. At such a time as the present
it was much. When Blenheim made a " new" Whig of
the Tory Lord Treasurer, a good word from Halifax got
Addison a commissionership of two hundred a year from
him ; and, while the restoration of the old Whigs was yet
doubtful, the dinners of Halifax at least kept their par-
tisans together, and Prior himself was rendered not less
steady than even Ambrose Philips or Steele.
But, as we have said, prospects in that direction were
brightening at last. Events were accomplishing, of them-
selves, what the actors in them had not the power to
prevent ; and, through whatever remaining obstacle or
hindrance, for the present the plain result had become too
imminent to be much longer delayed by any possible com-
bination of clergy and country gentlemen. What was done
with such a hope, only hastened the catastrophe. Oddly
enough, however, it happened just at this time that the
only consolation of which the circumstances were capable,
was suggested by a member of the one disheartened class
to a member of the other. It was at the St. James's
coffee-house, now the great Whig resort, but into
which there had stumbled one day, when all the lead-
ing wits were present, a *' gentleman in boots, just
" come out of the country." Already also, on that day,
a clergyman of remarkable appearance had been observed
in the room. Of stalwart figure, mth great sternness
and not much refinement of face, but with the most
wonderful blue eyes looking out from under black and
heavy brows, he had been walking half an hour or so
incessantly to and fro across the floor without speaking
to anybody ; when at last, on the entrance of the booted
squire, up went the walking priest to him, and asked this
question aloud : " Pray, Sir, do you remember any good
" weather in the world ? " The country gentleman was
of course unprepared for anything in the way of allegory,
and stammered out an answer which did little credit to
him as an agriculturist. "Yes, Sir, I thank God I
" remember a great deal of good weather in my time."
Steele.'] doctor joxathan swift. 217
To which, the querist rejoined, " That is more than I can
" say. I never remember any weather that was not too
" hot or too cold, too wet or too dry; but, however God
" Almighty contrives it, at the end of the year 'tis all
" very well " — took up his hat, and without another word
to anybody walked out of the room.
That was the first introduction of Steele and Addison
to the Reverend Jonathan Smft. Not long after, how-
ever, they knew in him not only " the mad parson," but
the writer of one of the most effective of Whig pamphlets,
the author of the most masterly prose satire published
since Rabelais, the foremost intellect, and one of the first
wits of the day. Nor was he, to them, the least delightful
of associates. Charles Fox had a theory about Swift,
that he could not have written the heaps of nonsense he
entertained his friends with, unless he had been at heart
a good-natured man. All at any rate were agreed as to
his wonderful and unequalled fascination in society, at such
times as he pleased to exert it. When Addison, shortly
after this date, gave him his book of travels, he wrote on its
fly-leaf that it was given to the most agreeable companion,
the truest friend, and the greatest genius of the age.
Happily none of them yet knew what his master-passion
was, of what little value he counted friendships or alliances
that might thwart it, with what secret purpose he sought
the power to be derived from literary distinction, to what
uses he would have turned his influence over those Whig
wits at the St. James's coffee-house, and what a dreary and
unsatisfactory past he was there himself to redeem. As
yet, they saw him only in his amiable aspect ; somewhat
perhaps condescending to their mirth, but sharing in it
nevertheless, and, when he pleased, making it run over
with abundance. Indeed he cared so little for what was
matter of real moment to them, that he was able often to
pass for a good-natured man in points where they failed
to show good nature. " I have great credit with him," he
wrote of an indifferent verse- writer to Ambrose Philips,
when a foreign employment had for a time carried off that
staunch Whig poet, "because I can listen when he reads,
" which neither you nor the Addisons nor Steeles ever
" can." It is the same letter in which he tells Ambrose
that the " triumvirate " of Addison, Steele, and himself,
218 A FAMOUS TRIUMVIRATE. [Sit' RtcJiard
come together as seldom as the sun, moon, and earth ;
though he often sees each of them, and each of them as
often him and each other ; hut, when he is of their
number, justice is done to Ambrose as he would desire.
No doubt, when the triumvirate were thus together,
Swift could do justice also, in his dry way, to the pretty
little opera of Rosamund which Mr. Addison had per-
mitted to be represented, and which, though it brought
him no repute, added another member to the circle who
surrounded him (the "senate,^' as Pope afterwards called
them,) in the person of that young Mr. Tickell of Oxford
• who addressed to him a poem in admiration of it. One
may imagine, too, that while Swift bore with much equa-
nimity Mr. Addison's failure on that occasion, he might
be even disposed to make merry at a certain contempo-
raneous failure of the other member of the triumvirate,
who, having proposed to give a dramatic form to Jeremy
Collier's Short Vieiv, and to introduce upon the stage
itself that slashing divine's uncompromising strictures of
it, produced his Lying Lover ; and had the honour to
inform the House of Commons some years later, that he
alone, of all English dramatists, had written a comedy
wbich was damned for its piety. This surprising incident
closed for the present Captain Steele's dramatic career ;
and when the Muse's Mercury next introduced his name
to its readers, it was to say that, as for comedies, there
was no great expectation of anything of that kind since
Mr. Farquhar's death, for " the two gentlemen who would
" probably always succeed in the comic vein, Mr. Con-
" greve and Captain Steele, have affairs of much greater
" importance at present to take up their time and
'' thoughts."
Soon after his pious failure, in truth, he had received
from the gift of Harley what he calls the lowest office in
the State, that of Gazetteer, and with it the post of Gen-
tleman-Usher in the household of Prince George. It
was not long before Harley's own resignation, that he had
to thank him for this service ; and it was at the very time
when the old Whigs were to all appearance again firmly
established, and Addison was Under-Secretary of State,
that heavings of no distant change became again percep-
tible. Writers themselves were beginning to sway from
Steele.~\ first and second marriage. 219
side to side, as preferments fell thick. There was Eowe
coming over from the Tories, and there was Prior going
over from the Whigs ; ' and there was the *' mad parson "
of the St. James's coffee-house talking his Tract on Civil
Discords to alarm the Tories, or his Tale of a Tub to
alarm the Whigs, according as either side for the time
inclined. And in the midst "of these portents, as we have
said, Mr. Harley quitted office ; and the Whig phalanx
little dreamed what he went to plan and meditate in his
compelled retirement.
But, in other than political ways, the current of life was
moving on with Steele, and matters of private as well as
pubHc concern had to do with his secession from the
theatre. Some little time before this, he had received a
moderate fortune in West India property with his first
wife, the sister of a planter in Barbados ; and he had
been left a widower not many months after the marriage.
Just before Harley left the ministry, he married again ;
and, of every letter or note he addressed to his second
wife during the twelve years of their union, that lady
proved herself so curiously thrifty, whether for her own
comfort in often reading his words or for his plague in
often repeating them, that the public curiosity was gra-
tified at the commencement of the century by the publi-
cation of upwards of four hundred such compositions:
and thus the most private thoughts, the most familiar
and unguarded expressions, weaknesses which the best
men pass their lives in concealing, self-reproaches that
only arise to the most generous natures, everything, in
short, that Eichard Steele uttered in the confidence of an
intimacy the most sacred, and which repeatedly he had
begged "might be shown to no one living," became the
property of all the world. It will be seen, as we proceed,
1 In the Hanmer Correspon- "honour. They say when yon and
dence, published not many years ' ' I had lookt over this piece for six
ago, we have a significant letter " months, the man could write
from Prior to Hanmer dated in 1707, " verse ; but when we had forsaken
and referring to another accession " him, and he went over to St
the Whigs had lately had in the " and Addison, he could not write
person of Mr. Edmund Smith, who " prose: you see, Sir, how danger-
dedicated his play to Lord Halifax. " ous it is to be well with you ; a
^^ Phcedra is a prostitute, and ** man is no longer father of his own
" Smith's dedication is nonsense. " writings, if they are good.'*
" People do me a great deal of
220 MRS. MOLLY scrnLOCK [Sir Richard
how lie stands a test such as never was applied, within
our knowledge, to any other man on earth.
*' Happy is the wooing that is not long a-doing,'' and
Steele's does not seem to have been prolonged beyond a
month. But his letters are such masterpieces of ardour
and respect, of tender passion and honest feeling, of good
sense and earnestness as well as of playful sweetness,
that the lady may fairly be forgiven for having so soon
surrendered. Instead of saying he shall die for her, he
protests he shall be glad to lead his Hfe with her ; and
on those terms she accepts, to use tbe phrase she after-
wards applied to him, *' as agreeable and pleasant a man
*' as any in England.^' Once accepted, his letters are in-
cessant. He writes to her every hour, as he thinks of her
every moment, of the day. He cannot read his books, he
cannot see his friends, for thinking of her. AYhile Addi-
son and he are together at Chelsea, he steals a moment,
while his friend is in the next room, to tell the charmer
of his soul that he is only and passionately hers. In
town, he seems to have shared Addison's lodgings at this
time ; for, not many weeks afterwards, he tells her ** Mr.
" Addison does not remove till to-morrow, and therefore
'' I cannot think of moving my goods out of his lodgings."
Thus early, she seems to have contracted that habit of call-
ing Addison her " rival, '* which he often charges on her
in subsequent years ; and who will doubt that the Under-
Secretary, rigid moralist as he was, formed part of the
" very good company," who not many days before the
marriage drank Mrs. Mary Scurlock's health (such was
her name : she was the daughter and sole heiress of
Jonathan Scurlock, Esq. of the county of Carmarthen)
by the title of the woman Dick Steele loves best, to an extent
it would hardly be decorous now to mention ? The last
few days before the wedding are the least tolerable of all.
If he calls at a friend's house, he must borrow the means
of writing to her. If he is at a coffee-house, the waiter is
despatched to her. If a minister at his office asks him
what news from Lisbon, he answers she is exquisitely
handsome. If Mr. Elliott desires at the St. James's to
know when he has been last at Hampton-court, he replies
it will be Tuesday come se'ennight. For, the happy day
was fixed at last ; and on " Tuesday come se'ennight,"
Steele.^ mrs. dick Steele. 221
the 9th of September, 1707, the adorable Molly Scurlock
became Mrs. Richard Steele.
It does not fall within our purpose to dwell in much
detail upon so large a subject as this lady's merits and
defects, but some circumstances attended the marriage of a
nature to make some of its early results less surprising.
In her fortune of 400^ a-year her mother had a life-
interest, and she does not seem to have regarded favour-
ably any of the plans the newly-married couple proposed.
On the other hand, Steele had certainly over-estimated his
own income ; and a failure in his Barbados estate made
matters worse in this respect. Eager meanwhile to show
all distinction to one he loved so tenderly, and belie\dng,
as he wrote to her mother, that the desire of his friends in
power to serve him more than warranted the expectations
he had formed, his establishment was larger than prudence
should have dictated. Mrs. Steele had a town -house in
Bury-street, St. James's; and within six weeks of the
marriage, her husband had bought her a pretty little
house at Hampton -court which he furnished handsomely,
and pleasantly called, by way of contrast to the Palace
by the side of which it stood, the Hovel. In the neigh-
bourhood lived Lord Halifax ; between whom and Steele
as well as Addison there was such frequent intercourse
at the time, that this probably led to Steele's first unwise
outlay, which Addison helped to make up by a loan of a
thousand pounds. In something less than a year (the
20th of August, 1708) the whole of this loan was repaid ;
but soon after, the same sort of thing re- appears in the
correspondence ; and not until some eight or nine years
later does it entirely disappear, after a manner to be
related hereafter, and very needlessly mis-related hitherto.
Thus established at Hampton-court, Mrs. Steele drives
her chariot and pair ; upon occasion, even her four horses.
She has a Httle saddle-horse of her own, which costs her
husband five shillings a week for his keep, when in town.
She has also Eichard the footman, and Watts the gardener,
and Will the boy, and her " own " women, and an addi-
tional boy who can speak Welsh when she 'goes down to
Carmarthen. But also, it must be confessed, she seems
to have had a frequent and alarming recurrence of small
needs and troubles which it is not easy to account for. If
222 LARGE EXPENSES AND SMALL WANTS. [<5'/r Richavd
it be safe to take strictly the notes she so carefully pre-
served, she was somewhat in the position pleasantly
described by Madame de Sevigne, in her remark to the
Countess Calonne and Madame Mazarine when they
visited her on their way through Aries : " My dears, you
" are like the heroines of romances ; jewels in abundance,
" but scarce a shift to your backs ! "
In the fifth month after their marriage, Steele writes to
her from the Devil Tavern at Temple-bar (Ben Jonson's
house), to tell her he cannot be home to dinner, but that
he has partly succeeded in his business,, and that he
incloses two guineas as earnest of more, languishes for
her welfare, and will never be a moment careless again.
JN'ext month, he is getting Jacob Ton^on to discount a
bill for him, and he desires that the man who has his
shoe- maker's bill should be told that he means to call on
him as he goes home. Three months later, he finds it
necessary to sleep away from home for a day or two, and
orders the printer's boy to be sent to him with his night-
gown, slippers, and clean linen, at the tavern where he
is. But, in a few days, all seems prosperous again : she
calls for him in her coach at Lord Sunderland's office,
with his best periwig and new shoes in the coach-box,
and they have a cheerful drive together. Not many days
later, just as he is going to dine with Lord Halifax, he
has to inclose her a guinea for her pocket. She has
driven in her chariot- and-four to Hampton-court on the
Tuesday, and on the Thursday he sends her a small
quantity of tea she was much in want of. On the day
when he had paid Addison back his first thousand pounds,
he incloses for her immediate uses a guinea and a half.
The day before he and " her favourite " Mr. Addison are
going to meet some great men of the State, he sends her
a quarter of a pound of black tea, and the same quantity
of green. The day before he goes into his last attend-
ance at Court upon Prince George, he conveys to her a
sum so small, that he can only excuse it by saying he has
kept but half as much in his own pocket. And a few
days after Mr. Addison has taken him in a coach- and-
four to dine with his sister and her husband, he tells his
dearest Prue that he has despatched to her seven penny-
worth of walnuts, at five a penny ; the packet containing
Sleek.l LETTERS TO PRUE. 223
whicli he opens with much gravity before it goes, to
inform her that since the invoice six walnuts have been
abstracted.
In that humorous touch, not less than in the change
from his " dearest Molly '* to his " dearest Prue,'* by
which latter name he always in future called her, we get
glimpses of the character of Mrs. Richard Steele. That
she had unusual graces both of mind and person, so to
have fascinated a man like her husband, may well be
assumed ; but here we may also see something of the
defects and demerits that accompanied them. She seems
to have been thrifty and prudent of everything that told
against him (as in keeping every scrap of his letters), but
by no means remarkably so in other respects. Clearly
also, she gave herself the most capricious and prudish
airs ; and quite astonishing is the success with which she
appears to have exacted of him, not only an amount of
personal devotion unusual in an age much the reverse of
chivalrous, but accounts the most minute of all he might
be doing in her absence. He thinks it hard, he says
in one letter, that because she is handsome she will not
behave herself with the obedience that people of worse
features do, but that he must be continually giving her
an account of every trifle and minute of his time ; yet he
does it nevertheless. In subjoining some illustrations on
this point from their first year of marriage, let us not fail
to observe how characteristically the world has treated
such a record. If Mr. Steele's general intercourse with
his wife had been in keeping with the customary habits
of the age, he would have had no need to make excuses
or apologies of any kind; yet these very excuses, an
exception that should prove the rule, are in his case taken
as a rule to prove against him the exception.
He meets a schoolfellow from India, and he has to write
to the dearest being on earth to pardon him if she does
not see him till eleven o'clock. He has to dine at the
gentlemen -ushers' table at Court, and he sends his adorable
ruler a messenger to bring him back her orders. He
cannot possibly come home to dinner, and he writes to
tell his dear, dear wife, that he cannot. He " lay last
" night at Mr. Addison's," and he has to tell the dear
creature the how and the why, and all about the papers
224 A TOO TENDER HUSBAND. [^Sir Richavd
they were preparing for the press. A friend stops him
as he is going home, and carries him off to Will's, whereon
he sends a messenger, at eleven at night, to tell her it is
a Welsh acquaintance of hers, and that they are only
drinking her health, and that he will be with her " within
" a pint of wine.'' If, on another occasion, he has any
fear of the time of his exact return, he sends a special
despatch to tell her to go to bed. When any interesting
news reaches him for his Gazette, he sends it off at once
to her. From the midst of his proofs at the office, he is
continually writing to her. When, at the close of a day
of hard work, he has gone to dine with Addison at Sandy-
end, he snatches a little time from eating while the others
are busy at it at the table, to tell her he is " yours, yours,
" ever, ever." He sends her a letter for no other purpose
than to tell his dear, dear Prue, that he is sincerely her
fond husband. He has a touch of the gout, and exaspe-
rates it by coming down stairs to celebrate her first birth-
day since their wedding ; but it is his comfort, he tells
her mother, as he hobbles about on his crutches, to see
his darling little wife dancing at the other end of the
room.
When Lord Sunderland orders him to attend at council,
he sends a special note to warn Prue of the uncertainty
of his release. When, in May 1708, Mr. Addison is chosen
member for Lostwithiel, and he is obliged, with some per-
sons concerned, to go to him immediately, he has to write
to acquaint her with that fact. He will write from the
Secretary's office at seven in the evening, to tell her he
hopes to be richer next day ; and again he will write at
half-past ten the same night, to assure her he is then
going very soberly to bed, and that she shall be the last
thing in his thoughts as he does so, as well as the first
next morning. Next morning he tells her she was not,
he is sure, so soon awake as he was for her, desiring upon
her the blessing of God. He writes to her as many letters
in one day as there are posts, or stage-coaches, to Hamp-
ton-court ; and then he gets Jervas the painter to fling
another letter for her over their garden-wall, on passing
there at night to his own house. He lets her visit his
Gazette office, nay, is glad of visits at such a place, he
tells her, from so agreeable a person as herself; and when
Steele?^ a peevish wife. 225
her gay dress comes fluttering in, and with it " the beau-
" tifulest object his eyes can rest upon," he forgets all
his troubles. And if charming words could enrich what
they accompanied, of priceless value must have been the
guineas, the five guineas, the two guineas, the ten shil-
lings, the five shillings, they commended to her. He has
none of Sir Bashful Constant's scruples in confessing that
he is in love with his wife. His life is bound up with
her ; he values nothing truly but as she is its partaker ;
he is but what she makes him ; with the strictest fidelity
and love, with the utmost kindness and duty, with every
dictate of his aftections, with every pulse of his heart, he
is her passionate adorer, her enamoured husband. To
which the measure of her return, in words at least, may
perhaps be taken from the fact, that he has more than
once to ask her to "write him word" that she shall really
be overjoyed when they meet.
The tone of her letters is indeed often a matter of
complaint with him, and more often a theme for loving
banter and pleasant raillery. What does her dissatisfac-
tion amount to, he asks her on one occasion, but that she
has a husband who loves her better than his life, and who
has a great deal of troublesome business out of the pain
of which he removes the dearest thing alive ? Her manner
of writing, he says to her on some similar provocation,
might to another look like neglect and want of love ; but
he will not understand it so, for he takes it to be only the
uneasiness of a doating fondness which cannot bear his
absence without disdain. She may think what she
pleases, again he tells her, but she knows she has the best
husband in the world. On a particular letter filled with
her caprices reaching him, he says of course he must take
his portion as it runs without repining, for he considers
that good nature, added to the beautiful form God had
given her, would make a happiness too great for human
life. But, be it lightly or gravely expressed, the feeling
in which all these little strifes and contentions close, on his
part, still is, that there are not words to express the ten-
derness he has for her ; that love is too harsh a word ; and
that if she knew how his heart aches w^hen she speaks an
unkind word to him, and springs with joy when she smiles
upon him, he is sure she would be more eager to make
226 roMESTic differences. \_Sir Richard
him tappy like a good wife, than to torment him like a
peevish beauty.
Nevertheless there are differences, more rare, which the
peevish beauty tvill push into positive quarrels ; and
from these his kind heart suffers much. The first we
trace some eight months after the marriage (we limit all
our present illustrations, we should remark, to the first
year and a half of their wedded life), when we find him
trying to court her into good humour after it, and protest-
ing that two or three more such differences will despatch
him quite. On another occasion he knows not, he says,
what she would have him do ; but all that his fortune
will compass, he promises that she shall always enjoy,
and have nobody near her that she does not like, unless
haply he should himself be disapproved for being so de-
votedly her obedient husband. At yet another time, he
teUs her he shall make it the business of his life to make
her easy and happy ; and he is sure her cool thoughts
will teU her that it is a woman's glory to be her husband's
friend and companion, and not his sovereign director.
On the day following this, he takes a higher tone. She
has saucily told him that their little dispute has been far
from a trouble to her, to which he gravely replies, that
to him it has been the greatest affliction imaginable : and,
since she has twitted him with the judgment of the world,
his answer must be, that he shall never govern his actions
by it, but by the rules of morahty and right reason ; and
so he will have her understand, that, though he loves her
better than the light of his eyes, or the life-blood in his
heart, yet he will not have his time or his will, on which
her interests as well as his depend, under any direction
but his own. Upon this a great explosion appears to
have followed ; and almost the only fragment we possess
of her writing is a confession of error consequent upon it,
which so far is curiously characteristic of what we beheve
her nature to have been, that while, in language which
may somewhat explain the secret of her fascination over
him, it gives even touching expression to her love and
her contrition, it yet also contrives, in the very act of
penitence, to plant another thorn. She begs his pardon
if she has offended him, and she prays God to forgive
him for adding to the sorrow of a heavy heart, which is
Steele.'^ origin of bickerstaff. 227
above all sorrow but for his sake. This he is content to
put aside by a very fervent assurance that there is not
that thing on earth, except his honour, and that dignity
which every man who lives in the world must preserve to
himself, which he is not ready to sacrifice to her will and
inclination ; and then he pleasantly closes by telling her
that he had been dining the day before with Lord Hah-
fax, when they had drank to the "beauties in the garden."
The beauties in the garden were Prue and an old school-
fellow then on a visit to her.
And, of the wits who so drank to her at Lord Halifax's,
Swift was doubtless one. For this was the time when
what he afterwards sneeringly called that nobleman's
" good words and good dinners " were most abundant,
and when Anthony Henley put together, as the very type
of unexceptionable Whig company, " Mr. Swift, Lord
" Halifax, Mr. Addison, Mr.Congreve,and the Gazetteer."
Never w^as Swift so intimate as now with Steele and Addi-
son. We have him dining with Steele at the George,
when Addison entertains ; with Addison at the Fountain,
when Steele entertains ; and with both at the St. James's,
when Wortley Montague is the host. And no wonder
the run upon him was great at the time, for he had lately
started that wonderful joke against Partridge in which
the rest of the wits joined so eagerly; and which not only
kept the town in fite of laughter for a great many months,
but was turned to a memorable use by Steele. In ridi-
cule of the notorious almanac-maker, and all kindred im-
postors. Swift devised sundry Predictions after their own
manner for the year 1708, the very first of which an-
nounced nothing less than the death of Partridge himself;
which event, after extremely cautious consultation with
the star of his nativity, he fixed for the 29th of March,
about eleven at night : and he was casting about for a
whimsical name to give to the assumed other astrologer
who was to publish this joke, when his eye caught a sign
over a locksmith's house with Isaac Bickerstaff under-
neath. Out accordingly came Mr. Bickerstaff's predic-
tions, followed very speedily by an account of the " ac-
" complishment of the first of them upon the 29tli
" instant." What he most counted upon of course was,
that Partridge should be such a fool as to take the matter
<i2
228 THE JOKE AGAINST PARTRIDGE. l_Sir Richavd
up gravely ; and lie was not disappointed. In a furious
pamphlet, the old astrologer declared he was perfectly
well, and they were knaves that reported it otherwise.
Whereupon Mr. Bickerstaff retorted with a vindication
more diverting than either of its predecessors ; Rowe,
Steele, Addison, and Prior, contributed to the entertain-
ment in divers amusing ways ; and Congreve, affecting to
come to the rescue, described under Partridge's name the
distresses and reproaches 'Squire Bickerstaff had exposed
him to, insomuch that he could not leave his doors with-
out somebody twitting him for sneaking about without
paying his funeral expenses. And all this, heightened in
comicaHty by its contrast with the downright rage of
Partridge himself, who was continually advertising him-
self not dead, and by the fact that the Company of Sta-
tioners did actually proceed as if in earnest he were, so
contributed to make Mr. Bickerstaff talked about far and
wide, that Steele afterwards spoke with no exaggeration
when he gave Swift the merit of having rendered the
name famous through all parts of Europe, and of having
raised it, by his inimitable spirit and humour, to as high
a pitch of reputation as it could possibly arrive at.^
That prediction was to be falsified, and the name of
Bickerstaff, even from Steele himself, was to receive addi-
tional glory : but not yet for a few months. The close of
1708 was a time of sore distress with Steele, aggravated
by his wife's approaching confinement. An execution for
rent was put into Bury-street, which unassisted he could
not satisfy ; and it has been surmised that Addison was
the friend whom he describes as refusing him assistance.
This, however, is not likely. Though he tells his wife,
two days afterwards, that she is to be of good cheer, for
* He said tkis in that preface to ' * entering upon this work, a cer-
the fourth collected volume of the ** tain uncommon way of thinking,
Taller in which (without naming " and a turn in conversation pecu-
him) he refers to Swift as a gentle- *' liar to that agreeable gentleman,
man well known to possess a genius " rendered his company very ad-
quite inimitable in its power of Bur- *' vantageous to one whose imagi-
rounding with pleasing ideas occa- "nation was to be continually
sions altogether barren to the *' employed upon obvious and com-
common run of invention. With ** mon subjects, though at the same
characteristic candour, he adds his " time obliged to treat of them in
personal obligations. " I must ac- ** a new and unbeaten method."
** knowledge also that at my first
Steele.'\ mr. secretary addison. 229
he has found friendship among the lowest when disap-
pointed by the highest, he far too eagerly connects with
" her rival " Addison, in a letter of less than a week's
later date, a suggestion which is at once to bring back
happiness to them all, to point with any probability the
former reproach as against him. Just at this time, on
Wharton becoming Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Addison
received the appointment of Secretary ; and his instant
suggestion was that Steele should put in his claim for the
Under- Secretaryship, which this would vacate. Through
letters extending over some five or six weeks, it is obvious
that the hope continues to sustain Steele, and that the
friends are working together to that end. It is not ex-
tinguished even so late as Addison's farewell supper ;
where he " treats " before his depaHure, and Steele helps
him in doing the honours to his friends. But he is doomed
to experience, what Addison himself proved during the
reverses of some twelve months later, that " the most
" likely way to get a place is to appear not to want it ;"*
and three weeks after the supper, he writes to a friend
that his hopes for the Under- Secretaryship are at an end,
but he believes " something additional " is to be given to
him. After a few weeks more, his daughter Elizabeth is
born ; and, according to a memorandum in the writing of
Prue, " her god-mothers were my mother and Mrs.
" Yaughan, her god-fathers Mr. Wortley Montague and
" Mr. Addison."
Then, not many weeks after the Irish Secretary's de-
parture, occurred that incident, which, little as Steele was
conscious of it at the time, concerned him far more than all
the state dignities or worldly advantages his great friends
could give or take away. On Tuesday the 12th of April
1709, Steele published, as the first of the Lucubrations of
Isaac Bickerstaff, Esquire, the first number of the Taller;
which he continued to issue unintermittedly, every Tues-
day, Thursday, and Saturday, until Tuesday the 2nd of
January 1710-11. It does not appear that any one was
1 This expression is in one of of Mr. Bohn, in whose complete
Addison's letters, hitherto unpub- edition of Addison's works, prepared
lished, of which a collection has for his Standard Library, they are
been submittsd to us, fur the pur- designed to appear,
poses of this paper, by the courtesy
230 PUBLICATION OF THE TATLER. \_Sir Ric/iard
in his secret, unless perhaps Swift; who was still lingering
in London, with whom he was in constant communication
(all Swift's letters and packets heing addressed to him at
his Gazette office, for the friend's privilege of so getting
them free of postage),' and with whom he may probably
have advised before using Mr. Bickerstaff 's name. Addison,
whose later connexion with it became so memorable, was
certainly not consulted at first, and did not even recognise
his friend's hand until some numbers had appeared. The
first four were given to the newsmen for distribution
gratis, and afterwards the price charged was a penny.
The early and large demand from the country does not
seem to have been expected ; for it was not till after the
26th number, that a threehalfpenny edition was regularly
published with a blank half-sheet for transmission by
post. Steele himself appears modestly to have thought,
if Spence reports him accurately, that the combination
with its more original matter of its little articles of news,
to which of course his official position imparted unusual
authority, first gave it the wings that carried it so far ;
but, after what we have shown of its other attractions at
the very outset, this explanation will hardly be required.
The causes too, as well as the extent, of its popularity,
have been pointed out by a then living authority quite
unexceptionable.
* An important privilege in those spondents, and how far he dispensed
days, and one which Steele would with it ; but the truth appears to
fain have been able to exert on have been, as was most natural,
behalf of his friend Mr. Bickerstaff. that the mere occasional contri-
As it was, Isaac was obliged to butors were required to pay (this is
insist upon his correspondents pay- clear from an advertisement sub-
ing for the carriage of the letters joined to the Tatler No. 186, in its
they sent. The postage of a single original form), and that payment
letter to any place not exceeding was not expected in the case of Mr.
eighty miles, was then but Id, and Bickerstaflf's coadjutors and prin-
a double letter, Ad. But, in the cipal friends. At the close of No.
next session of parliament, the 117, in the original form, he gives
postage to the same distance was his thanks and humble service for a
advanced to Zd and Qd (where it parcel of letters value ten shillings,
stood for upwards of half a century, of which it is added that the next
when it was still further advanced); subsequent letter would be one; and
and of course the charge was con- this leaves no doubt that the packet
siderably more for greater distances. was one of those precious ones from
In the notes to his excellent edition Ireland, containing not merely Mr.
of the Tatler, Mr. Nichols dis- Eustace Budgell's handywork, but
cusses how far Mr. Bickerstaff Addison's and Swift's.
exacted prepayment from his corre-
Steele.l extraordinary popularity. 231
Gay was a young man just entering on tlie town, when
the Tatler was quitting it; and, already with strong Tory
leanings, he wrote to a friend in the country shortly after
the appearance of the last number, that its sudden cessa-
tion was bewailed as some general calamity, and that by
it the coffee-houses had lost more customers than they
could hope to retain by all their other newspapers put
together. He adds that the author's reputation had really
arisen to a greater height than he believed any living
author's ever was before him ; and he proceeds to account
for it by the fact that, whereas other polite writers endea-
voured to please the age by falling in ^dth its vices, and
it would have been " a jest some time since for a man to
" assert that anything witty could be said in praise of a
" married state, or that devotion and virtue were any way
" necessary to the character of a fine gentleman," Mr.
Bickerstaff, on the other hand, had the courage to tell the
town that they were a parcel of fops, fools, and vain co-
quettes ; and had the genius to tell it in such a manner
as even pleased them, and made them more than half
inclined to believe it. And who, continues Gay, remem-
bering the thousand follies his little paper had either
banished or given check to, how much it had contributed
to virtue and religion, how many it had rendered happy
by merely showing it was their own fault if they were not
so, and to what extent it had impressed upon the indiffer-
ent the graces and advantages of letters, who shall won-
der that Mr. Bickerstaff, apart from his standing with
the wits, should at the morning tea-tables and evening
assemblies have become of all guests the most wel-
come? that the very merchants on 'Change should have
relished and caressed him ? and that the bankers in
Lombard-street, not less than the ladies at Court,
were now verily persuaded " that Captain Steele is
" the greatest scholar and best casuist of any man in
" England .P"
One bitter drop there was, nevertheless, in the cup thus
overflowing. Even the Tories, says Gay, " in respect to
" his other good qualities, had almost forgiven his unac-
" countable imprudence in declaring against them."
There is much virtue in an almost. Here it means, that
Steele would certainly have been forgiven his first unac-
S32 THE WHIGS IN EXTREMIS. \_Sir Rtchaj d
countable imprudence, if lie had not gone on committing
^vast many more.
AKThe Tatler had not been half a year in existence, when
uneasy symptoms of weakness had broken out among the
Ministry. In the autumn Addison returned to London,
and the first result of the conference of the friends was a
letter from Steele to Swift, who remained in Ireland. It
enclosed a letter from Lord Halifax. It also told Swift
that no man could have said more in praise of another,
than Addison had said last Wednesday in praise of him at
Lord Halifax's dinner-table. It assured him, that, among
powerful men, no opportunity was now omitted to upbraid
the Ministry for his stay in Ireland ; and that there was
but one opinion among the company at the dinner in
question, which included Lord Edward Eussell, Lord
Essex, Mr. Maynwaring, Mr. Addison, and himself.
Finally, it wonders that Swift does not oftener write to
him, reminds him of the town's eagerness to listen to the
real Mr. Bickerstaff, and tells him how his substitute
longs to usher him and his into the world. " Not that
" there can be anything added by me to your fame,"
says the good-hearted writer, " but to walk bare-headed
" before you." In this letter may be read the anxiety of
the Whigs, conceived too late, as so many of their good
purposes have been, to secure the services of Jonathan
Swift. The reply was a first-rate Tatler,^ but nothing
satisfactory in regard to the Whigs.
^ I have said in a previous paper " what great anxiety I have suf-
that Swift's tone jars now and then " fered, to see of how little benefit
upon the mirth of his friends, as hav- "my Lucubrations have been to
ing something too much of condescen- '* my fellow-subjects. Men will go
sion in it ; but the humour of all his " on in their own way, in spite of
contributions to the T'afZfr is of the "all my labour. I gave Mr.
most rare and exquisite kind. Ge- " Didapper a private reprimand for
nerally of course he wrote as a cor- ** wearing red-heeled shoes, and at
respondent; but occasionally Steele "the same time was so indulgent
surrendered Mr. BickerstafF's chair " as to connive at him for fourteen
to him, and observe howslily he can " days, because I would give him
use it to have a friendly laugh at " the wearing of them out ; but,
everybody concerned, "Neman," "after all this, I am. informed he
he begins (No, 67) "can conceive, "appeared yesterday with a new
"until he comes to try it, how " pair of the same sort, I have no
" great a pain it is to be a public- "better success with Mr. What-
" spirited person, I am sure I am " D'ye-call, as to his buttons ;
" unable to express to the world " Stentor still roars ; and box and
Steele.'] the harley ministry. 233
Soon after broke out the Sacheverell trial, and with it
the opportunity Harley had planned and waited for. He
saw the Whig game was up, and that he had only to pre-
sent himself and claim the spoil. Steele saw it too, and
made vain attempts in the Tatler to turn the popular
current. The promise made him before Addison's first
departure for Dublin, was now redeemed ; and a Commis-
sionership of Stamps testified, tardily enough, the Whig
sense of the services he was rendering, and the risks he
was running, in their behalf. From all sides poured in
upon him, at the same time, warnings which he bravely
disregarded. From Ireland, under the name of Ami-
nadab, he was prudently counselled to consider what a
day might bring forth, and to " think of that as he took
"tobacco;" nor could he, in accordance with such advice,
have taken many whiffs, when Swift followed his letter.
By the time he arrived in London, at the close of August
1710, the Whig overthrow was as nearly as possible
complete; Harley and St. John were in power; his friend
Prior, who had gone over to them and was expelled from
the Kit-Katt, was abusing his old associate Steele in a
new paper called the Examiner; and the first piece of
interesting news he had to write to Stella was, that
Steele would certainly lose his place of Gazetteer. This
was after an evening (the 10th of September) passed in
company with him and Addison. They met again, at
the dinner- table of Lord Halifax, on the 1st of October ;
when Swift refused to pledge with them the resurrection,
unless they would add the reformation, of the Whigs :
but he omitted to mention, that, on that very day, he had
been busy lampooning the ex- whig-premier. Three days
after he was dining with Harley, having cast his fortunes
finally against his old friends ; and before the same
month was closed, the Gazette had been taken from
Steele.
Yet Swift afiects to feel some surprise that, on going to
Addison a few days later to talk over Steele's prospects,
" dice rattle as loud, as they did ** /must still go on in laying these
'' before I writ against them. Par- " enormities before men's eyes ; and
** tridge walks about at noon -day, "let them answer for going on iu
" and J^lsculapius thinks of adding " their practice."
" a ne w lace to b is livery. However,
234 SWIFT JOINS THE TORIES. [5/> Richavd
and volunteer Ms good services with Harley, Addison
should have " talked as if he suspected me," and refused
to fall in with anything proposed. More strangely still, he
complains to Stella the next day that he has never had
an invitation to Steele's house since he came over from
Ireland ; and that during this visit he has not even seen
his wife, " by whom he is governed most abominably. So
*• what care I for his wit ?" he adds. " For he is the worst
" company in the world till he has a bottle of wine in his
" head." Nevertheless he shows still a strange hankering
after both the friends, and not so much indifference as
might be supposed to the worst of company : for, the next
social glimpse we have of him is at our old acquaintance
Elliott's, of the St. James's, where the coffeeman has a
christening, at which, as Yicar of Laracor, he officiates ;
and where " the rogue " had a most noble supper, and
Steele and himself sat among some scurvy people over a
bowl of punch, until very late indeed. But, in truth, one
has not much difficulty in discovering exactly enough, in
spite of many apparent contradictions of phrase, in what
position recent events had now placed the two friends
towards him. On their side, without further faith in his
political profession, remained still the same respect for his
genius, and still the same desire to have help from his
wit ; and on his, underlying a real desire to be of service
where he could, was displayed too much of a fussy
exhibition of his eagerness to serve, and far too exuberant
and exulting a sense of that sudden and unwonted favour
at Whitehall, which seemed half to have turned the great
brain that had condescendingly waited for it so long.
At his intercession, Harley was to see Steele; but the
ex- Gazetteer did not even keep the appointment which
was to save him his Commissionership. He probably
knew, better than Swift, that Harley had no present inten-
tion to remove him. The new Lord Treasurer certainly
less surprised his antagonist Steele than his friend
Jonathan, by showing no more resentment than was
impHed in the request that the latter should not give any
more help to the Tatler. *' They hate to think that I
" should help him," he wrote to Stella, *' and so 1 frankly
" told them 1 would do it no more."
Already Steele had taken the determination, however,
Siee/e.'\ the tatler discontinued. 235
wliicli made this resolve, in so far as the Tatler was con-
cerned, of the least possible importance to him. His
loss of the Gazette had entailed a change in the con-
duct of his paper, which had convinced him of the
expediency of re-casting it on a new plan. The town
was startled by the announcement, therefore, that the
Tatler of the 2nd January, 1710-11, was to be the last ;
and Swift informs us that Addison, whom he met that night
at supper, was as much surprised as himself at the an-
nouncement, and quite as little prepared for it. But this
may only express the limit of the confidence now reposed in
Swift ; for there can be little doubt that the friends had
acted together, in what already was in agitation to replace
the Tatler. Nor is there any ground to suppose that
Addison was ignorant, or Swift informed, of an interview
which Steele had with Harley, in the interval before the
new design was matured. The Lord Treasurer's weakness
was certainly not a contempt or disregard for letters, and,
though the object of the meeting was to settle a kind of
armed neutrality, he overpassed it so far as to intimate
the wish not simply to retain Steele in the Commissioner-
ship, but to give him something more valuable.' This
was civilly declined, but the courtesy was not forgotten ;
and the better feeling it promoted for a time, the sort of
armistice it established, the understood abstinence from
present hostility involved in it, obtained all the more
zealous help from Addison to his friend's new scheme.
On Thursday the 1st of March, 1710-11, appeared
the first number of the Spectator , with an announce-
ment that it was to be continued daily. Much wonder
was raised by so bold a promise, and little hope enter-
tained that it could ever be redeemed. The result showed,
notwithstanding, with what well-grounded confidence the
^ "When I had the honour of a " which yon have at snndry times
short conversation with yon, you *' showed me." So Steele wrote to
were pleased not only to signify to Harley (then Lord Oxford) on re-
me that I should remain in this signing his Commissionership a little
office, but to add that, if I would more than two years after the date
name to you one of more value, in the text, when the Spectator had
which would be more commodi- been brought to a close, and his
ous to me, you would favour me tacit compact with Addison was at
in it. . . I thank your Lordship an end,
for the regard and distinction
236 THE SPECTATOR BEGUN. \_Sir Richurd
friends had embarked in an enterprise wliicli men of
less ricli resource thought extravagant and impossible.
From day to day, without a single intermission, the Spec-
tator was continued through 555 numbers, up to the 6th
of December 1712. It began with a regular design, which
with unflagging spirit was kept up to its close. " It
" certainly is very pretty," wrote Swift to Stella, after
some dozen numbers had appeared ; when, in answer to
her question, he had to tell her that it was written by Steele
with Addison's help. " Mr. Steele seems to have gathered
" new life," he added, " and to have a new fund of wit."
So indeed it might have seemed. Never had he shown
greater freshness and invention, than in his first sketches
of the characters that were to give life to the new design :
nor can any higher thing be said of his conception of Sir
Roger de Coverley and Will Honeycomb, than that it
deserved the noble elaboration of Addison; or of his
humorous touches to the short-faced gentleman,' than
that even Addison's invention was enriched by them. It
is not our purpose here to compare or criticise what each,
according to his genius, contributed. It is enough to
say that to the last both nobly bore their part, and that,
whatever we have seen in the Tatler of Steele's wit,
pathos, and philosophy, reappeared with new graces in the
Spectator.'^ There was the same inexpressible charm in
^ We can give only one out of Spectator Tvas printed, to insert a
many masterly strokes ; but, in the new preposition or conjunction. Nor
whole range of Addison's wit, is does this differ from Pope's report
there anything more perfect than that Addison wrote very fluently,
Steele's making the Spectator re- but was very scrupulous and slow
member that he was once taken up in correction : to which he adds,
for a Jesuit, for no other reason what no doubt Steele knew and
than his profound taciturnity ? acted on, that " it seemed to be for
2 It may perhaps be worth sub- *' his advantage not to have time
joining, before we quit the subject ** for much revisal." That, during
of their pleasant and ever memo- the continuance of the works in
rable literary companionship, that which they were jointly engaged,
what has been said at various times Steele sent all papers to press, is
of Addison's care and Steele's indif- certain. Tickell asserts that the
ference in regard to corrections of papers, before publication, were
the press, seems to express not badly never or seldom shown to each other
the different temperaments of the by their respective writers; but, that
men. Joseph Warton had heard of all passed through Steele's hands to
Addison's being so nice, that he the printer, is proved by old Richard
would even stop the press when Nutt, who worked in the ofiice of
nearly the whole impression of the his father, Moi-phew's partner, John
Steele.~\ a new fund of wit. 237
the matter, the same inexhaustible variety in the form.
And upon all the keen exposure of vice, or the pleasant
laugh at folly ; as prominent in the lifelike little story,
as in the criticism of an actor or a play ; making attractive
the gravest themes to the unthinking, and recommending
the lightest fancies to the most grave ; there was still the
old and ineffaceable impress of good-nature and humanity
— the soul of a sincere man shining out through it all.
Let any one read the uninterrupted series of twenty-two
Spectators, which Steele daily contributed from the 6th
to the 31st of August 1711, and doubt his title to a full
share in the glory and fame of the enterprise. Try his
claim to participate in its wit and character, by such
papers as the short-faced gentleman's experiences (No. 4) ;
as the seven he inserted in the series of Sir Roger de
Coverley ; as those numerous sketches of Clubs which
his touch filled with such various life ; and as the essays
we now proceed to name. On Powell's Puppet-Show
(No. 14), On Ordinary People (No. 17), On Envious
People (No. 19), On Over-consciousness and Affectation
(No. 38), On Coffee-house Politicians (No. 49), On Court
Mournings (No. 64), On the Fine Gentlemen of the Stage
(No. 65), On Coarse Speaking (No. 75), On the Impro-
vidence of Jack Truepenny (No. 82), On the Footmen of
the House of Peers (No. 88), On the Portable Quality of
Good Humour (No. 100), On Servants' Letters (No. 137),
On the Man of Wit and Pleasure (No. 151), On the
Virtues of Self-denial (No. 206 and No. 248), On Mr.
Antony Freeman's domestic troubles, and on Mr. Tom
Meggott's share therein (Nos. 212 and 216), in which
lies the whole germ of the capital comedy of the Jealous
Wife, On Generous Men (No. 346), On Witty Companions
Nutt. This same Richard also told * ' which he saw rapidly written by-
Mr. Nichols, that the press was "Steele at midnight, and in ted,
stopped, not seldom, by want of copy, "whilst he waited to carry it to
for which Steele was responsible ; " the press." Let me simply add,
and that in these cases he had often that the art of making errata in
a hard task to find out Steele, who themselves delightful, and of turn-
frequently wrote hastily what was ing the correction of a printer's
needed, in a room at the printing- error into a new spring and charm
office. *' This merry old man, who of wit, was never carried to such a
*' died but lately, mentioned upon perfection as by Addison.
" recollection a particular paper
238
ON DICK eastcourt's DEATH. \_Sir Richat'd
(JSTo. 258), On the Comic Actors (No. 370), On Jack Sippet
(No. 448), and On Yarious Forms of Anger (No. 438),
with its whimsical contrasts of imperturbability and wrath.
Let him be measured, too, in graver themes, by such
papers as those On Living to our own Satisfaction (No. 27),
On Female Education (No. QQ\ On the Death of a Friend
(No. 133), On the Fear of Death (No. 152), On Youth
and Age (No. 153), On the Flogging at Public Schools
(No. 157), On Raffaelle's Cartoons (No. 226,) and On
the Death of the Comedian Eastcourt (No. 468), the
last one of his most characteristic, wise, and beautiful
pieces of writing.* So long as these and many others
survive, there will be no need to strike him apart, or
judge him. aloof, from his friend.
^ I subjoin a passage, never to be
quoted too often, from this exquisite
in which, describing East-
court's astonishing talents for loi-
micry, he extracts from them a phi-
losophy of most wise and general
application to the weakness and
self-love of us all, ' ' What was ■ ' he
says "peculiarly excellent in this
* memorable companion, was, that
' in the accounts he gave of persons
' and sentiments, he did not only
* hit the figure of their faces, and
' manner of their gestures, but he
' would in his narrative fall into
' their very way of thinking ; and
* this when he recounted passages
' wherein men of the best wit were
* concerned, as well as such wherein
' were represented men of the lowest
' rank of understanding. It is
' certainly as great an instance of
' self-love to a weakness, to be im-
' patient of being mimick'd, as any
' can be imagined. There were
' none but the vain, the formal,
* the proud, or those who were in-
* capable of amending their faults,
' that dreaded him ; to others he
' was in the highest degree pleas-
' ing ; and I do not know any sa-
* tisfaction of any indifferent kind
' I ever tasted so much, as having
* got over an impatience of my see-
' ing myself in the air he could put
' me when I have displeased him.
' It is, indeed, to his exquisite talent
' this way, more than any philoso-
' phy I could read on the subject,
' that ray person is very little of
' my care ; and it is indifferent to
' me what is said of my shape, my
' air, my manner, my speech, or
' my address. It is to poor East-
' court I chiefly owe, that I am
'• arrived at the happiness of think-
■ ing nothing a diminution to me,
■ but what argues a depravity of
' my will. . . I have been present
■ with him among men of the most
' delicate taste a whole night, and
' have known him (for he saw it
■ was desired) keep the discourse
'• to himself the most part of it,
■ and maintain his good humour
■ with a countenance, in a language
• so delightful, without offence to
■ any person or thing upon earth,
• still preserving the distance his
■ circumstances obliged him to ; —
' I say, I have seen him do all this
' in such a charming manner, that
' I am sure none of those I hint at
will read this, without giving
him some sorrow for their abun-
dant mirth, and one gush of tears
for so many bursts of laughter.
I wish it were any honour to the
pleasant creature's memory, that
my eyes are too much suffused to
let me go on — "
Steele ] spectator's unexampled success. 239
Nothing in England had ever equalled the success of
the Spectator. It sold, in numbers and volumes, to an
extent almost fabulous in those days ; and when Boling-
broke's stamp carried Grub-street by storm, it was the
solitary survivor of that famous siege. Doubling its
price, it yet fairly held its ground ; and at its close it was
not only paying Government 29/ a week on account of
the halfpenny stamp upon the numbers sold, but had a
circulation in volumes of nearly ten thousand. Altogether,
it must often have circulated before the stamp, thirty
thousand, which might be multiplied by six to give a
corresponding popularity in our day. Nevertheless Steele
had been for some time uneasy and restless. Thus far, with
reasonable fidelity, the armistice on his side had been kept ;
but from day to day, at what he believed to be the thick-
ening of a plot against public liberty, he found it more and
more difficult to observe the due restraints ; and not seldom
latterly, perhaps in spite of himself, his thoughts took the
direction of politics. " He has been mighty impertinent
*^ of late in his Spectators," wrote Swift to Stella, " and
" I believe he will very soon lose his employment." That
was, to Steele, the last and least thing at present. What
he wanted, was a certain freedom for himself which hardly
consisted with the plan of the Spectator; and he therefore
resolved to substitute an entirely new set of characters.
He closed it in December 1712, and he announced a new
daily paper, called the Guardian, for the following March.
Into this new paper, to which Addison (engaged in
preparing Cato for the stage) did not for a considerable
time contribute, he carried the services of the young poet
whose surprising genius was now the talk of the town.
Steele had recognised at once Pope's surpassing merit,
and in his friendly critic Pope welcomed a congenial
friend. He submitted verses to him, altered them to his
pleasure, wrote a poem at his request, and protested
himself more eager to be called his little friend, Dick
Distich, than to be complimented with the title of a
great genius or an eminent hand.' He was so recreated,
^ An accomplished friend of mine Correspondence professing to have
(in Athenctum and Notes and Que- been interchanged between himself
ries) has succeeded in establishing and Steele at this time, and on
that the various letters in Pope's which the statement in the text is
240 QUARREL WITH SWIFT. [♦S/V Rtchavd
in short, as lie afterwards wrote to Addison, with " the
" brisk sallies and quick turns of wit which Mr. Steele
" in his liveliest and freest humours darts about him,"
that he did not immediately foresee the consequence of
engaging with so ardent a politician. Accordingly, just
as Swift broke out into open quarrel with his old asso-
ciate, we find Pope confessing that many honest Jacobites
were taking it very ill of him that he continued to write
with Steele.
The dispute with Swift need not detain us. It is
enough if we use it to show Steele's spirit as a gentleman,
who could not retort an injustice, or fight wrong with
wrong. When, after a very few months, he stood up in the
House of Commons to justify himself from libels which
had exhausted the language of scurriHty in heaping insult
upon him and his, the only personal remark he made was
to quote a handsome tribute he had formerly ofi'ered to
their writer, with this manly addition : " The gentleman
" I here intended was Dr. Swift. This kind of man I
'* thought him at that time : we have not met of late, but
" I hope he deserves this character still." And why was
he thus tender of Swift ? He avowed the reason in the
last paper of the JEnglishman, where he says that he knew
his old friend's sensibility of reproach to be such, that he
would be unable to bear life itself under half the ill lan-
guage he had given to others. Swift himself had formerly
described to Steele those early days when he possessed the
sensitive fear of libel to an extraordinary degree, and this
had not been forgotten by his generous adversary.
But what really was at issue in their quarrel ought to
be stated, since it forms the point of departure taken by
Steele, not simply from those who differed but from many
who agreed with him in politics.'^' Principles are out of
" the case," said Swift, " we dispute wholly about per-
" sons." " No," rejoined Steele, " the dispute is not
" about persons and parties, but things and causes^'^?'
Such had been the daring conduct of the men in po\^^,
and such their insolent success, that Steele, at a time
based, only assumed their existing truth generally is expressed in those
shape in later years, when it suited letters, as to the relations now sub-
Pope's purpose so to place them sisting between Pope and bteele, I
before the world. But that the entertain no doubt.
Sieele.~\ in the house of commons. 241
■when few had the courage to speak out, did not scruple
to declare what he believed to be their ultimate design.
" Nothing," he wrote to his wife some few months after
the present date, "nothing but Divine Providence can
" prevent a Civil War within a few years." Swift laughed,
and said Steele's head had been turned by the success of
his papers, and that he thought himself mightily more im-
portant than he really was. This may have been so ; but
whatever imaginary value he gave himself, he was at least
ready to risk, for the supposed duty he thought also in-
cumbent on him. Nor was it little for him, in his posi-
tion at that time, to surrender literature for politics ; to
resign his Commissionership of Stamps ; and to enter the
House of Commons. He did not require Pope to point
him out lamentingly to Congreve, as a great instance of
the fate of all who are so carried away, with the risk of
being not only punished by the other party but of suffer-
ing from their own. Even from the warning of Addison,
that his zeal for the public might be ruinous to himself,
he had turned silently aside. Not a day now passed
that the most violent scurrilities were not directed against
his pen and person, in which one of Swift's "under-
" writers," Wagstaff, made himself conspicuous ; and
CoUey Cibber laughs at the way in which these scribes
were already labouring to transfer to his friend Addison
the credit of all his Tatlers and Spectators. Nevertheless
he went steadily on. " It is not for me," he remarked with
much dignity, " to say how I write or speak, but it is for
" me to say I do both honestly ; and when I threw away
" some fame for letters and politeness, to serve the nobler
" ends of justice and government, I did not do it with
" a design to be as negligent of wh^t should be said of
'' me with relation to my integrity, -^o, wit and humour
*' are the dress and ornament of the mind ; but honesty
" and truth are the soul itself' We may, or may not,
think Steele discreet in the choice he made ; but of his
sincerity and disinterestedness, there ought to be no doubt
whatever.
When at last, upon the publication of his Crisis, which
was but the sequel to those papers in the Guardian that
led to his election for Stockbridge, the motion was made
to expel him for ha\ing " maliciously insinuated that the
242/ DEATH OF QUEEN ANNE. [S/V Richurd
xtrotestant succession in the House of Hanover is in
" danger under her Majesty's administration/' the Whigs
rallied to his support with what strength they could.
Eobert Walpole and General Stanhope took their place
on either side of him as he waited at the bar, and Addison
prompted him throughout his spirited and temperate de-
ience.//He spoke, says one who heard him, for near three
hours; with such temper, eloquence, and unconcern, as
gave entire satisfaction to all who were not prepossessed
against him. But perhaps the most interesting occur-
rence of that memorable day was the speech of Lord
Finch. This young nobleman, afterwards famous as a
minister and orator, owed gratitude to Steele for having
repelled in the Guardian a libel on his sister, and he rose
to make his maiden speech in defence of her defender.
But bashfulness overcame him ; and after a few confused
sentences he sat down, crying out as he did so, "It is
" strange I cannot speak for this man, though I could
" readily fight for him ! " Upon this, such cheering rang
through the House, that suddenly the young lord took
heart, rose again, and made the first of a long series of
telling and able speeches. Of course, however, it did" not
save Steele, who was expelled by a majority of nearly a
hundred in a house of four hundred members.
<^t was a short-lived triumph, we need hardly say.
Soon came the blow which struck down that tyrant ma-
jority, dispersed its treason into air, consigned Oxford to
the Tower, and drove Bolingbroke into exile. Eagerly
Steele wrote to his wife from the St. James's coffeehouse,
on the 31st of July 1714, that the Queen was dead»; It
was a mistake, but she died next day. Three days later,
he writes from the Thatched-house, St. James's, that he
has been loaded^with compliments by the Regents, and
assured of soja^hing immediately. Yet it was but little
he obtained, '^e received a place in the household (Sur-
vey orship of the royal Stables) ; was placed in the com-
mission of peace for Middlesex; and, on subsequently
:9ing up with an address from that county, was knighte^^
L little before he became Sir Hichard, however, the mem-
ber for Truro resigned the supervision of the Theatre
Royal (then a government office, entitling to a share in
the patent, and worth seven or eight hundred a year), and
SUeIe.~\ IN OPFICE AT DRURY LANE. 243
the players so earnestly petitioned for Steele as his suc-
cessor, that he was named to the offijj^j^" His spirits
" took such a lively turn upon it," says Cibber, " that,
" had we been all his own sons, no unexpected act of filial
" duty could have more endeared us to him.'* Whatever
the coldness elsewhere might be, here, at any rate, was
warmth enough. Benefits past were not benefits forgot,
with those lively good-natured men. They remembered,
as Cibber tells us, when a criticism in the Tatler used to
fill their theatre at a time when nothing else could ; and
they knew that not a comedian among them * but owed
something to Eichard Steele, whose good nature on one
occasion had even consented that Doggett should announce
the Tatler as intending to be bodily present at his benefit,
and had permitted him to dress a fictitious Isaac Bicker-
stafi" as himself, for amusement of the crowded house.^
-, The politicians Steele certainly foun.d less mindful of
the past than the players. But, if we show that the course
he took in the prosperous days of Whiggism difi'ered in
no respect from that which he had taken in its adverse
days, some excuse may perhaps suggest itself for the dis-
pensers of patronage and of&ce. He entered Parliament
for Boroughbridge, the Duke of Newcastle having given
him his interest there ; and for some time, and with some
' I have spoken of this already ; " others on the stage were made
but I may here add that the most *' to appear real great peisons, and
humble, as well as the highest, ob- *' not representatives. This was a
tained his good word ; and it would " nicety in acting that none but
be difficult to give a better instance, ** the most subtle player could so
in a few lines, at once of his kindness *' much as conceive."
and his genius as a critic of players, ^ This was on Monday the 16th
than by what he says of a small of January 1709-10, Mr. Bickerstaff
actor of Betterton's time: "Mr. having gravely promised in Satu^-
* ' William Peer distinguished him- day's Tatler, in reply to a letter
** self particularly in two charac- from Doggett saying it would bring
** ters, which no man ever could him the greatest house since the
'* touch but himself. One of them visit of the Morocco ambassador,
"was the speaker of the pro- that he'd come in between the first
" logue to the play which is con- and second act of Love for Love
" trived in the tragedy of Hamlet, (pleased at his choice, he told him,
"to awake the conscience of the of so excellent a play, and looking
" guilty princess, Mr. William on him as the best of comedians),
*' Peer spoke that preface to the and would remain in the R. H. box
* ' play with such an air as repre- over the pit until the end of the
" sented that he was an actor ; and fourth act. The applause at the
" with such au inferior manner as fictitious Isaac's appearance was
" only acting an actor, that the tremendous.
B 2
244 HOUSE OF COMMONS DEBATES. \_Sir Richurd
success as a speaker, lie took part in the debates. To
judge from his criticism on orators, one might suppose
himself to have been a proficient in the art ; and he was
doubtless more than an average speaker. He knew how
to avoid, at any rate, what he points out as a great error
committed by the speakers of his day, in confounding
oratory with passion, and thinking the si vis me flere as
applicable in the one as in the other case. If any man
would exert an uncontrolled influence over those who
listen to him, said Steele, never let him lose control over
himself. This was no great period for oratory, however.
No successor had yet appeared to Henry St. John in the
Commons, nor even to Eobert Harley. ; Steele wittily
described the House, at the time, as consisting very much
of silent people oppressed by the choice of a great deal to
say, and of eloquent people ignorant that what they said
was nothing to the purpose ; and as it was, he tells us, his
own ambition to speak only what he thought, so it wai
his weakness to think such a course might have its use
Undoubtedly such a course he did absolutely take ; no^
does he at any time seem, out of deference to party or
its prejudices, to have compmmised a single opinion
sincerely entertained by him„^
^- He attacked every attempt to give power to the Church
independent of the State ; he held that all eagerness in
clergymen to grasp at exorbitant power, was but popery
in another form ; * and he created much ofi'ence by declar-
ing that, if Eome pretended to be infallible and England
^ A further remark made by him ** ciety ; and (what was the most
in the course of this argument is " melancholy part of the whole)
well worth attention and reflection ' ' that Protestants " (he is speaking
in the present day. **I am now of the extreme High Church party)
" brought," he says, " by the natu- ' ' must be reduced to the absurdity
" ral course of such thoughts, to "of renouncing Protestant as well
" examine into the conduct of Chris- "as Christian Principles, before
" tians, and particularly of Protest- "they can pretend to make their
" ants of all sorts. One thing drew "practices and their professions
" on another: and. as little conversant "consistent. This I resolved to
" as I have heretofore been in such " represent ; and have done it,
"matters, I quickly found that " without regard to any one sort of
" Christianity was neither unintel- " them more than another. lam
" ligible, nor ill-natured ; that the " mox-e and more persuaded, every
" Gospel does not invade the rights " day, that it is fitting to under-
** of mankind, nor invest any men "stand Religion, as well as to
" with authority destructive to so- " praise it."
Steele.'^ caheer as a politician. 245
to be always in the right, lie saw little difference between
the two// In his prosperity Harley had no assailant more
bitter, and in his adversity no more generous opponent,
than Steele. ''I transgressed, my lord, against you,"
he said, " when you could make twelve peers in a day ; I
" ask your pardon when you are a private nobleman."
As he had fought the Schism bill under the Tories, under
the Whigs he pleaded for toleration to the Eoman Catho-
lics. " I suppose this," he wrote to his wife, " gave a
" handle to the fame of my being a Tory ; but you may
" perhaps by this time have heard that I am turned Pres-
" byterian, for the same day, in a meeting of a hundred
" parKament-me^, I laboured as much for the Protestant
" Dissenters. '^^0 man was so bitter against the Jacobites,
as long as any chance of their success remained ; but none
so often or so successfully interceded on their behalf for
mercy, when the day had gone against them^The mis-
chief of the South Sea scheme was by Steelie more than
any man exposed ; but, for such of the Directors as had
themselves been its dupes, no man afterwards spoke so
charitably. Walpole had befriended him most on the
question of his expulsion, and he admired him more than
any other politician ; yet he alone in the House spoke
against Walpole's proposition about the Debt, " because
" he did not think the way of doing it just." Addison
was the man he to the last admired the most, and, not-
withstanding any recurring coolness or difference, loved
the most on earth ; but, on the question of Lord Sunder-
land's Peerage bill, he joined Walpole against Addison,
and with tongue and pen so actively promoted the defeat
of that mischievous measure, that we may even yet, on
this score, hold ourselves to be his debtors.
To this rapid sketch of Steele's career as a politician,
it might seem superfluous to add his complaint against
those who neglected him, or that, when the Duke of
Newcastle had been so mean as to punish his opposition
to the Peerage bill by depriving him of his Drury-lane
appointment (to which, we may interpose, he was restored
as soon as Walpole returned to office), he should thus
have written to Lady Steele : " I am talking to my wife,
" and therefore may speak my heart, and the vanity of it.
'* I know, and you are witness, that I have served the
?i46 DULL MR. WILLIAM WHisTON. \_Sir Richmd
" Eoyal Family witli an nnreservedness due only to
" Heaven ; and I am now (I thank my brother Whigs)
" not possessed of twenty shillings from the favour of the
" Court." But neither should we attempt to conceal, that
a man of a different temperament and more self-control
would hardly at this time, after all the opportunities his
own genius had opened to him, have needed the exercise,
or have complained of the absence, of such " favour."
So it was, however ; and we must take the man even as
he was, subject to all the remarks which duller men in
his own day, or greater men since, may have thought
themselves entitled to make upon him. Such remarks do
not then seem to have troubled him very much, and per-
haps his reputation may survive them now. On the day
after his speech in the House of Commons interceding for
mercy to the South Sea Directors, Mr. William Whiston,
for whom also he had interceded formerly when in straits
hardly less difficult, met him at Button's. " Why, Sir
" Richard," said the worthy man, " they say you have
" been making a speech in the House for the South Sea
" directors." " Well," said he quietly, " they do say so."
To which Whiston, who confesses that he had been a little
nettled personally some time before by a ludicrous remark
of Sir Richard's, made the somewhat illogical reply,
" Then how does this agree with your former writing
" against the scheme ? " " Mr. Whiston," rejoined
Steele, " you can walk on foot, and I can not." Of
course the dull man tells the anecdote by way of showing
that Steele could change his opinions for his interest, but
that is not the construction any well-informed reader will
put upon it. To look after his own interest at any time,
was the very last thing Steele ever thought of doing ; and
as to the matter in question, it was notorious that in
speaking for Lord Stanhope and the other misguided
men, he discharged himself only of a debt of kindness that
could have no effect, save such as might be unfavour-
able, upon his own fortune. It was simply his wit
and good breeding that politely had declined debate,
and left Mr. Whiston in the enjoyment of his own sordid
fancy.
Very far indeed from such admission as any such fancy
would father on him, that he owed to the ministers the
Steele. '\ treatment by the whigs. 247
coach lie rode in, are those repeated complaints, at this
very time, of the utter absence of all ministers' favours,
which might more wisely perhaps, with a little dignity
and self-denial, have been spared. This we have already
said, though we will^ot say that the complaints were
altogether unjust. The Whigs treated Steele badly.
They never sufficiently remembered the actual service he
had rendered them, and their cause, when actual danger
was abroad.^ Nor was he without ample justification for
the statement he left on record against them, in his Apo-
logue of the husbandman and the bridge ; with which the
subject may be left, also in these pages. There was, he
said, a certain husbandman in a certain kingdom, who
lived in a certain place under a certain hill, near a certain
bridge. This poor man was a little of a scholar, being
given to country learning, such as astrological predictions
of the weather, and the like ; and one night, in one of
those musings of his about his house, he saw a party of
soldiers belonging to a prince in enmity with his own,
coming towards the bridge. Off he immediately ran, and
drew up that part which is called the draw-bridge. Then,
calling his family, and getting his cattle together, he put
forward his plough, behind that his stools, and his chairs
behind them ; and by this means stopped the march till
it was day-Hght, when all the neighbouring lords and
gentlemen, being roused by this time and thoroughly
waked from sleep, were able to see the enemy as well as
he. Hereupon, with undoubted gallantry and spirit,
they crowded on to oppose the foe, and in their zeal and
hurry, pitching our poor husbandman over-bridge, and
his goods after him, they most effectually kept out the
invaders. And a great mercy was that accident, for it
was nothing less than the safety of the kingdom. There-
fore ought no one, pursues the author of the Apologue,
to be discomfited from the public service, by what had
happened to this rustic. For, though he was neglected
at the present, and every man said he was an honest
fellow and no one's enemy but his own in exposing his
all, and though nobody said he was every one's friend but
his own, still the man had ever after the liberty, the in-
valuable liberty and privilege, that he, and no other but
he and his family, should beg on the bridge in aU times
248 everyone's friend but his own. \_Sir Richard
following. And lie is begging on the bridge accordingly
to this very hour.
It is not our desire to extenuate the failings of Sir
Richard Steele, the begging on the bridge included;
nor have we sought to omit them from this picture of
his career. But his claim to have had more liberal con-
sideration, is quite apart from the question of whether
he would himself have been likely very greatly to profit
by it. We much doubt if he would. His genius, and
the means then open to it, might have sufficed for all his
wants, if in a worldly sense he could have been more true
to his own opportunities. But it was unhappily of the
very essence of his character, that any present social
impression took, so far, the place of all previous moral
resolutions; and that, bitterly as he had often felt the
" shot of accident and the dart of chance," he still
thought them carelessly to be brushed aside by the smiling
face and heedless hand. No man's projects for fortune
had so often failed, yet none were so often renewed.
Indeed the very art of his genius told against him in his
life ; and that he could so readily disentangle his thoughts
from what most gave them pain and uneasiness, and
direct his sensibility at will to flow into many channels,
had the reverse of a favouring tendency towards the
balance at his banker's. But such a man is no example
of improvidence for others. Its ordinary warnings come
within quite another class of cases ; and, even in stating
what is least to be commended in Steele, there is no need
to omit what in his case will justify some exceptional
consideration of it. At least we have the example of
a bishop to quote, for as much good nature as we can spare.
Doctor Hoadly, the Bishop of Bangor, was a steady friend
of Steele's, and consented ultimately to act as executor
and guardian to his children. He accompanied him and
Addison one day to a Whig celebration of King William's
anniversary, and became rather grave to see the lengths
at which the festivity threatened to arrive. In the midst
of his misgivings, in came a humble but facetious Whig
on his knees, with a tankard of ale in his hand; drank it
off to the immortal memory; and tben, still in his kneeling
posture, managed to shuffle out. " Do laugh," whispered
Steele to the bishop, next to whom he sat, ** it's humanity
Steele.'] blenheim and grub street. 249
" to laugh." For which, humane episcopal exertion,
carried to a yet higher tolerance in his own case at a later
period of the evening, Steele sent him next morning this
pleasant couplet,
" Virtue with so much ease on Bangor sits,
All faults he pardons, though he none commits."
In another humorous anecdote of this date, Hoadly was
also an actor with Steele. They went together on a visit
to Blenheim, and sat next each other at a private play got
up for the amusement of the great Duke, now lapsing into
his last illness ; when, as they both observed how well a
love-scene was acted by the Duke's aide-de-camp, Captain
Fishe, " I doubt this fish is flesh, my Lord," whispered
Steele. On going away, they had to pass through an
army of laced coats and ruffles in the hall ; and as the
Bishop was preparing the usual fees, " I have not
" enough," cried his companion, and much to the episcopal
discomposure proceeded to address the footmen, told them
he had been much struck by the good taste with which
he had seen them applauding in the right places up
stairs, and invited them all gratis to Drury-lane theatre,
to whatever play they might like to bespeak.
At this date it was, too, that young Savage, for whom
Wilks had produced a comedy at Drury-lane, was kindly
noticed and greatly assisted by Steele ; though all the
stories of him that were afterwards told to Johnson by
his ill-fated friend, only showed how sorely poor Sir
Richard needed assistance himself. He surprised Savage
one day by carrying him in his coach to a tavern, and
dictating a pamphlet to him, which he was sent out
into Grub-street to sell ; when he found that Sir Richard
had only retired for the day to avoid his creditors, and
had composed the pamphlet to pay his reckoning.
Johnson also beHeved, on the same authority, that at
one of Steele's great dinner parties he had been obhged
to dress up in expensive liveries, and to turn to use as
additional footmen, certain bailiffs whose attendance,
though unavoidable, might not else have seemed so
creditable.' It was from Savage, too, Johnson heard the
^ "I have heard," says the Ex- *' lustrious person who having a
aminer (No. 11), " of a certain il- " guard du corps that forced their
250 BOND ENFORCED BY ADDISON. \_Sir Rtchard
story of the bond put in execution against his friend by
Addison, which Steele mentioned, he said, with tears in
his eyes. Not so, however, did Steele tell it to another
friend, Benjamin Yictor, who, before Savage's relation
was made public, had told it again to Garrick. To Yictor,
Steele said that certainly his bond on some expensive
furniture had been put in force ; but that, from the letter
he received with the surplus arising from the sale, he
knew that Addison only intended a friendly warning
against a manner of living altogether too costly, and that,
taking it as he believed it to be meant, he met him
afterwards with the same gaiety of temper he had always
shown.
This story is not incredible, we think ; and to invent,
as Mr. Macaulay has done, another story in place of one
so well authenticated, involved at least some waste of
ingenuity. One may fairly imagine such an incident
following not long after the accession of King George,
when, in his new house in York-buildings, Steele gave an
extravagant entertainment to some couple of hundred
friends, and amused his guests with a series of dramatic
recitations, which (one of his many projects) he had some
thought of trying on an extended plan, with a view to the
more regular supply of trained actors for the stage. For,
though Addison assisted at this entertainment, and even
wrote an epilogue ^ for the occasion making pleasant mirth
of the foibles of his friend —
*^\ The Sage, whose guests you are to-night, is known
To watch the public weal, though not his own, " &c. /
— nay, though we can hardly doubt that he showed no
reluctance himself to partake of the burgundy and
champagne, Addison may yet have thought it no un-
friendly act to check the danger of any frequent repetition
of indulgences in that direction. And, even apart from
* ' attendance upon him, put them but it was certainly written by Ad-
'* into livery, and maintained them dison, as the lines themselves bear
** as his servants : thus answering internal proof. It was first printed,
** that famous question, Quis custo- and with Addison's name, in the
*^clietipso8custodes?'' eighth volume of that now rare
^ Doctor Drake attributed this book, Nichols's Select Collection of
epilogue to Steele himself, and has Poems.
been followed by subsequent writers;
Steele.'^ girls and boys. 251
the nights they now very frequently passed together
at Button's new coffee-house, we have abundant evidence
that the friendly relations, though certainly not all the
old intimacy, continued. <0n the day following that which
Kfted Addison to the rank of Secretary of State, Steele
dined with him ; and on the next day he wrote to his
wife, that he was named one of the Commissioners for
Forfeited Estates in Scotland./^
The duties of this office took him much from home in
his latter years ; and, before we close "vvith the brief
mention those years may claim from us, we will give a
parting glance at what his home had now become. For
the greater part of the time since he moved from Bury-
street, he has lived in Bloomsbury-square. His wife has
borne him four children, two boys and two girls, of whom
the eldest boy, Richard, Lord Halifax's godson, died in
childhood, and the second, Eugene, a few years before
his father. His girls survived him, and the eldest became
Lady Trevor. The old sudden alternations of sunshine
and storm have continued between himself and Prue.
There have been great wants and great enjoyments,
much peevishness and much tenderness, quarrels and
reconciliations numberless ; but very manifestly also,
on the whole, the children have brought them nearer
to each other. He is no longer his dearest Prue's
alone, but, as he occasionally signs himself, "Your —
" Betty — Dick — Eugene — Molly's — affectionate Richard
" Steele." At his own request, his wife's small fortune has
been settled on these children ; and one of her letters to
him, upon the result of this arrangement with her mother,
appears to have begun with the expression of her thank-
fulness that the children would at least have to say
hereafter of their father that he kept his integrity. He
gives her iacessant reports of them, when she happens to
be absent. He tells her how Moll, who is the noisiest
little creature in the world, and as active as a boy,
has bid him let her know she fell down just now,
and did not hurt herself; how Madam Betty is the
gravest of matrons in her airs and civilities ; how Eugene
is a most beautiful and lusty child ; and how Dick is
becoming a great scholar, for whenever his father's Virgil
is shown him he makes shrewd remarks upon the
253 LAST LETTERS TO PRUE. [5/> Richard
pictures. In that same letter he. calls her his "poor,
*' dear, angry, pleased, pretty, witty, silly, everything
" Prue ; " and he has never failed, through all these
years, to send her the tenderest words on the most trivial
occasions. He writes to her on his way to the Kit-Katt,
in waiting on my Lord Wharton or the Duke of Newcastle.
He coaxes her to dress well for the dinner, to which he
has invited the Mayor of Stockbridge, Lord Halifax, and
Mr. Addison. He writes to her in the brief momentous
interval, when, having made his defence in the House of
Commons, he was waiting for the final judgment which
Addison was to convey to him. He writes to her when
he has the honour of being received at dinner by Lord
Somers ; and he writes to her from among the " dancing,
*' singing, hooping, hallooing, and drinking " of one of
his elections for Boroughbridge. He sends a special
despatch to her for no other purpose than to tell her she
has nothing to do but be a darling. He sends her as
many as a dozen letters in the course of his journey to
Edinburgh ; and when, on his return, illness keeps them
apart, one in London, the other at Hampton-court, her
happening to call him Good Dick puts him in so much
rapture, that he tells her he could almost forget his
miserable gout and lameness, and walk down to her.
Not long after this, her illness terminated fatally. She
died on the morrow of the Christmas Day of 1718.
Of the remaining ten years of his own subsequent life,
many of both the private and public incidents of which
have already been mentioned by anticipation, the occur-
rences of the greatest interest were his controversy with
Addison on the Peerage bill, where we hold him, as we
have already said, to have had much the advantage of
his adversary in both his reasoning and conclusions ; and
the production of his comedy of the Conscious Lovers, the
most carefully written and the most successful, though in
our opinion, with much respect for that of Parson Adams
(who thought it as good as a sermon), not the best of his
comedies. Of the projects that also occupied him in this
interval, especially that of his fish-pool invention, we have
nothing to say, but that Addison, who certainly did not
sneer at him in the " little Dicky" of the second Old
Whig, ought to have spared him, not less, the sneer in
Sleek. 'I DEATH. 253
tliat pampUet at his " stagnated pool.'' Steele did not
retort, however, with anything more personal than an
admiring quotation from Cato ; and his Plebeian forms in
this respect no contrast to the uniform tone in which he
spoke of his friend, with whom his transient difference
would assuredly soon have heen composed if another year
of life had been spared to Addison. But his children
were Steele's greatest solicitude, as well as chief delight,
in these latter years ; and, amid failing health and grow-
ing infirmities, he is never tired of superintending their
lessons, or of writing them gay and entertaining letters,
as from friend or playfellow. After three years' retire-
ment in Wales, attended by his two little daughters, he
died there at the age of fifty-three.
He had survived much, but neither his cheerful temper
nor his kind philosophy. He would be carried out in a
summer's evening, where the country lads and lasses were
at their rural sports, and with his pencil give an order on
his agent for a new gown to the best dancer. That was
the last thing seen of Eichard Steele. And the youths
and maidens who so saw him in his invalid chair, en-
feebled and dying, saw him still as the wits and fine ladies
and gentlemen had seen him in his gaiety and^youth,
when he sat in the chair of Mr. Bickerstafi", treating
pleasure for himself by the communication of pleasure to
others, and in proportion to the happiness he distributed
increasing his own. .
^
CHAELES CHUECHILL;
1731—1764.
The Poetical Works of Charles Churchill. With Copious Notes, and a Life
of the Author. Bij W. Tooke, F.E.S. 3 vols. 12mo. London : 1844.
Mr. William Tooke sets us a bad example in his
" copious notes," ^ which, we do not propose to follow.
Our business is with Churchill ; and not with the London
University, or with the Society for the Diffusion of
Useful Knowledge, or with the Reform Bill, or with the
Penny Postage Bill, or with the Dissenters' Marriage Act,
or with the Whigs in general, or with Lord Campbell in
particular, or with the Popish Ascendency, or with the
voters of Metropolitan Boroughs, or with the members
From the Edinburgh Review, January 1845. With additions.
2 The common tendency of re-
marks upon individuals is to the too
free, indulgence either of blame or
praise ; and what is here said of
Mr. Tooke does not altogether, I
fear, escape this reproach. No one
who examines the book under review,
however, will say that the remarks
in the Essay were unprovoked or
without ample justification. Still
I would gladly now have omitted
them, if I could have done so with-
out leaving uncorrected much grave
error, or without exposing to pos-
sible misrepresentation hereafter
both the matter and the motive of
them. So long, however, as Mr.
Tooke's "Copious Notes" of unpro-
voked and unscrupulous personal
attack, continue to disfigure what
might easily have been made the
best edition of a true English poet,
their writer can have no good cause
of complaint. I should add that
the quotations in these pages from
Churchill's Poetry and Satire, have
not been taken from Mr. Tooke's
volumes, but from the edition of
the Poems (the third) issued in
1766 by the poet's brother and
executor, John Churchill. The
Fragment of a Dedication to War-
hurton is of later date, being the
only composition of Churchill's not
published until after his death.
25 G A DEAD HAND AT A LIFE. [^C/iavks
who represent tliem in Parliament. There are many-
reasons why Mr. Tooke should not have named these
things, far less have gone out of his way so lavishly to
indulge his contempt and abuse of them ; but we shall
content ourselves with mentioning one. If the editorial
pains bestowed upon them had been given to his author,
we should probably not have had the task, which, be-
fore we speak of Churchill, we shall discharge as briefly
as we may, of pointing out his editorial deficiencies.
It would be difficult to imagine a worse biographer than
Mr. Tooke. As Dr. Johnson said of his friend Tom
Birch, he is " a dead hand at a Life.'' Nor is he a more
lively hand at a Note. In both cases he compiles with
singular clumsiness, and his compilations are not always
harmless. But, though Mr. Tooke is a bad biographer
and a bad annotator, he is a far worse critic.
If it were true, as he says, that "the character of
" Churchill as a poet, may be considered as fixed in the
" first rank of English classics" (i. xiii), we should have
to place him with Shakespeare and Milton, in the rank
above Dryden and Pope. If the Rosciad were really, as
Mr. Tooke thinks, remarkable for its " strength of imagi-
*' nation " (i. xxxiv), we should have to depose it from its
place beside the Dimciads, and think of it with the Para-
dise Losts. And indeed we shall be well disposed to do
this, when Mr. Tooke establishes the critical opinion he
adopts from poor Dr. Anderson, that the Cure of Saul, a
sacred ode by Dr. Brown, " ranks with the most distin-
" guished lyric compositions'' (iii. 302).
This Dr. Brown, the author of the flat tragedy of Bar-
harossa, and a vain, silly, impracticable person, is described
by Mr. Tooke to have been " a far wiser and better man
" than Jeremy Bentham" (iii. 109) ; whose " always
" mischievous, but happily not always intelligible, gib-
" berish," is in a previous passage ranked with " the
" coarse blasphemy of Richard Carlyle" (iii. 107). It is
in the same discriminating taste we are told, after this,
that Dr. Francklin's Translation of Sophocles is " a bold
" and happy transfusion into the English language of the
" terrible' simplicity of the Greek tragedian " (iii. 298) ;
— poor Dr. Francklin being as much hke the terrible
simplicity of the Greeks, as Mr. Tooke resembles Aris-
Churchill.'] a worthy task ill-done. 257
tides, or an English schoolmaster is like the Phidian
Jove.
The reader will not suppose that Mr. Tooke, a wealthy
and respectable solicitor of long standing, and a gentle-
man who appears to have been really anxious to do good
after his peculiar fashion, has not had ample time to set
himself right on these points, when we mention the fact
of his first appearance as Churchill's editor no fewer
than forty years ago. Forty years ago, when he was in
the flush of youth, and George the Third was King, he
aspired to connect himself with the great satirist. AYhat
turned his thoughts that way, from the " quiddets and
" quillets, and cases and tenures and tricks '' that sur-
rounded him in his daily studies, he has not informed us.
But, among his actions of scandal and battery, the echo
of Churchill's rough and manly voice was in that day
lingering still ; and an aspiring young follower of the law
could hardly more agreeably indulge a taste for letters,
than among the mangled and still bleeding reputations of
the Duellist, the Candidate, and the Ghost. We have
yet reason to complain, that he did not improve this taste
with some little literary knowledge. In his notes to his
favourite satirist he has drawn together, no doubt, a
great mass of information ; which cannot, however, be in
any manner useful except to those who know better than
himself, not only how to select what is of any worth in it,
but how to reject what is utterly worthless : and unhap-
pily, where it is not matter of fact but of opinion, even
this chance is not left to them.
Whether he praises or blames, Mr. Tooke has the rare
felicity of never making a criticism that is not a mistake.
Nothing of this kind, committed forty years back, has he
cared to correct ; and' every new note added, has added
something to the stock of blunders. He cannot even
praise in the right place, when he has such a man as Dr.
Garth to praise. Garth was an exquisite creature ; a real
wit, a gentleman, a friend, a physician, a philosopher ; and
yet his Satire was not "admirable," nor his Claremont
" above mediocrity," nor his Translations from Ovid
" spirited and faithful " (iii. 16-17). In an earHer page,
Mr. Tooke has occasion to refer to the writer of a par-
ticular panegyric, whom he calls Conyngham (ii. 317).
258 EDITORIAL BLUNDERS. \Charles
This exemplifies anotlier and abundant class of mistakes
in his volumes. The writer was Codrington, and the lines
were addressed to Garth on his Dispensary. Mr. Tooke
has to speak of the two Doctors William King ; and he
attributes the well-known three octavos of the King of St.
Mary's-hall to the King of Christ-church (iii. 173). He
has to speak of Bishop Parker, Marvell's antagonist, and
lie calls him Archbishop Parker (ii. 171) ; a singularly-
different person. He condemns Churchill for his public
appearance in a theatre with a celebrated courtesan, whom
his next sentence, if correct, would prove to have been a
venerable lady of between eighty and ninety years old
(i. 47) ; — the verses quoted having been written sixty-three
years before, to the Venus of a past generation. If an
anecdote has a point, he misses it ; and if a question has
two sides, he takes the wrong one. He gravely charges
the old traveller Mandeville mth wilful want of veracity,
and with having " observed in a high northern latitude
"the singular phenomenon of the congelation of words
" as they issued from the mouth, and the strange medley
" of sounds that ensued upon a thaw" (ii. 76) : — vulgar
errors, we need hardly say. Sir John Mandeville wrote
conscientiously, according to the lights of his times ; and
qualifies his marvellous relations as reports. The con-
gelation of words was a pure invention of Addison's,
palmed off upon the old traveller.
In matters more closely connected with his subject, Mr.
Tooke is not more sparing of errors and self-contradic-
tions. He confounds Davies, the actor and bookseller —
Johnson's friend, Garrick's biographer, and a reasonably
correct as well as fairly informed writer — with Davis, an
actor not only much lower in the scale than Davies, but
remembered only by the letter Mr. Tooke has printed
(i. 36-7). He tells us, with amazing particularity, that
" Churchill's brother John survived him little more than
" one year, dying, after a week's illness only, on the 18th
" November 1765." (i.'lvi) : the truth being that John,
who was a surgeon- apothecary in Westminster, survived
his brother many years ; published, in the character of
his executor, the fifth collected edition of his works as late
as 1774 ; and was recommending the use of bark to Wilkes,
whose medical attendant he became, as late as 1778. In
ChurchilL'\ self-contradictions. 259
one place he says that he, Mr. Tooke, has endeavoured,
without success, to ascertain the truth of a statement that
Churchill had a curacy in Wales, and became bankrupt
in cider speculations there ; suppositions which, unable to
substantiate, he rejects (i. xxv). Yet in another place
he speaks, without a doubt, of Churchill's " flight from
" his curacy in Wales" (iii. 28) ; and in a third, tells us
decisively that Churchill's " own failure in trade as a
" cider- dealer," had ^' tinctured him mth a strong and
" unfounded prejudice " against the merchants of London
(ii. 318). At one time he relates a story of Churchill's
having incurred a repulse at Oxford, on account of alleged
deficiency in the classics, to acquaint us that it "is ob-
" viously incorrect" (i. xxi). At another, he informs us
that " the poet's antipathy to colleges may be dated from
" his rejection by the University of Oxford, on account of
" his want of a competent skill in the learned languages"
(ii. 227). No opportunity of self-contradiction is too
minute to be lost. Now he says that the price of the
Rosciad was half-a-crown (i. 114), and now that it was
but " the moderate price of one shilling " (ii. 167). Now
that Lord Temple resigned in 1761 (i. 170), and now
that the resignation was in 1762 (ii. 29). Now that the
Apology was published in April 1761 (i. 115), and, six
pages later (i. 121), that it was published in May of that
year. Now that Churchill's Sermons were twelve in
number (i. xxvi), and now, quoting Dr. Kippis, that they
were ten (iii. 318). These instances, sparingly selected
from a lavish abundance, will probably suffice.
We shall be equally sparing of more general examples
that remain. Mr. Tooke, as the character of this literary
performance would imply, has no deficiency on the score
of boldness. Thus, while he thinks that " the Rev.
" Doctor Croly, in his classical and beautiful play of
" Catiline^ has at once shown what a good tragedy should
" be, and that he is fully equal to the task of producing
" one" (ii. 297), he has an utter contempt for the Words -
worths and Coleridges. " What language," he indignantly
exclaims, before giving a specimen of the latter poet in a
lucid interval, " could the satirist have found sufficiently
" expressive of his disgust at the simplicity of a later
" school of poetry, the spawn of the lakes, consisting of
s 2
260 ELEGANT EXTRACTS. [Ckarks
" a mawkisli combination of the nonsense verses of the
*' nursery, with the Rhodomontade of German mysticism
" and transcendentahsm ! " (i. 189). This is a Httle
strong, for a writer like Mr. Tooke. Nor, making but
one exception in the case of Lord Byron, does he shrink
from pouring the vials of his critical wrath upon every
Lord who has presumed to aspire to poetry. Not the
gentle genius of Lord Surrey, or the daring passion of
Lord Buckhurst ; not the sharp wit of my Lords Rochester
and Buckingham, or the earnestness and elegance of Lord
Thurlow; can shake the fierce poetical democracy of
Mr. William Tooke. " The claim of the whole lot of
" other noble poets," he observes with great contempt,
" from Lord Surrey downwards — the Buckinghams, the
*' Roscommons, the Halifaxes, the Grenvilles, the Lyttle-
^' tons of the last age, and the still minor class of Thur-
" lows, Herberts, and others of the present generation,
" have been tolerated as poets, only because they were
" peers.'' (iii. 262.)
A contempt of grammar, as of nobility, may be observed
to relieve the sense and the elegance of this passage.
But this is a department of Mr. Tooke's merits too ex-
tensive to enter upon. When he talks of " a masterly
" but caustic satire" (i. xl), and of " plunging deeper and
" more irrecoverably into," &c. (i. xli), we do not stop to
ask what he can possibly mean. But his use of the pre-
positions and conjunctions is really curious. His " and
" to which we would refer our readers accordingly, and
" to whose thanks we shall entitle ourselves for so doing"
(iiL 157) ; his " and from which but Httle information
" could be collected, he was at the same time confident
" that none others existed, and which the lapse of time
" has confirmed " (iii. 296) ; are of perpetual recurrence
in the shape of and who, or but which, and may be said to
form the pecuHarity of his style. On even Mr. Picker-
ing's Aldine press, a genius of blundering has laid its evil
touch. The errors in the printing of the book are exe-
crable. Not a page is correctly pointed from first to last ;
numbers of lines in the text (as at iii. 216-17) are placed
out of their order ; and it is rare when a name is rightly
given. But enough of a distasteful subject. We leave
Mn Tooke and pass to Churchill.
Churchill.'] two races of men. 261
Exactly a hundred years after the birth of Dryden,
Charles Churchill was bom. More than a hundred years
were between the two races of men. In 1631, Hampden
was consoling Eliot in his prison, and discussing with
Pym the outraged Petition of Right ; in 1731, Walpole
was fl}ing at Townshend's throat, and suggesting to Gay
the quarrels of Lockit and Peachum. Within the reach
of Dryden's praise and blame, there came a Cromwell
and a Shaftesbury ; a Wilkes and a Sandmch exhausted
Churchill's. There is more to affect a writer's genius in
personal and local influences of this kind, than he would
himself be willing to allow. If, even in the failures of the
first and greatest of these satirists, there is a dash of large-
ness and power ; there is never wholly absent from the
most consummate achievements of his successor, a some-
thing we must call conventional. But the right justice
has not been done to Churchill. Taken with the good
and evil of his age, he was a very remarkable person.
An English clergyman, who, in conjunction with his
rectory of Rainham in Essex, held the curacy and lecture-
ship of St. John the Evangelist in Westminster, from
1733 to his death in 1758, was the father of Charles
Churchill. He had two younger sons : William, who
afterwards chose the church for his profession, and passed
a long, quiet, unobtrusive life within it ; and John,
brought up to the business of medicine. The elder,
named Charles after himself, he from the first especially
designed for his own calling ; and he sent him in 1739,
when eight years old, as a day-boy to Westminster
school. Nichols was then the head master, and the
second master was (not Lloyd, as Mr. Tooke would in-
form us, but) Johnson, afterwards a bishop. Vincent
Bourne was usher of the fifth form, and Dr. Pierson
Lloyd (after some years second master), a man of fine
humour as well as of rare worth and learning, was usher
at the fourth. Churchill, judging from the earliest notice
taken of him, must have been already a robust, manly,
broad-faced little fellow, when he entered the school ; all
who in later life remembered him, spoke of the premature
growth and fulness both of his body and mind ; ' and
1 Mr. Cunningham has sent me a Rosciad with a MS note by Sir John
copy of the seventh edition of the Cullum respecting the opinion enter-
262 BOYS AT WESTMINSTER SCHOOL. [Charks
he was not long in assuming the place in Ms boys' circle,
which, quick-sighted lads are not slow to concede to a
deserving and daring claimant. He was fond of play ;
but, when he turned to work, was a hard and a successful
worker. There is a story of one of his punishments by
flogging, which only increased and embittered the temper
that provoked it ; but there is another, of a literary task
by way of punishment, for which the offender received
public thanks from the masters of the school. " He
" could do well if he would," was the admission of his
enemies ; and the good Dr. Lloyd loved him.
There were a number of remarkable boys at West-
minster then. Bonnell Thornton was already in the
upper forms ; but George Colman, Kobert Lloyd, Rich-
ard Cumberland, and Warren Hastings, were all, with
very few years' interval, Churchiirs contemporaries ; and
there was one mild, shrinking, delicate lad of his own
age, though two years younger in the school, afraid to
lift his eyes above the shoestrings of the upper boys, but
encouraged to raise them as high as Churchill's heart.
He stood by Cowper in those days ; and the author of
the Task and the Talle-Talk repaid him in a sorer need.
Indeed, there was altogether a manly tone of feeling
among these Westminster scholars. In whatever respect
they fell short of any promises of their youth, when they
grew to manhood, they yet continued true to all that in
those earlier days had pledged them to each other. Never,
save when two examples occurred too flagrant for avoid-
ance, in a profligate duke and a hypocritical parson, did
Churchill lift his pen against a schoolfellow. Mr. Tooke
says that the commencement of a satire against Thornton
and Colman was found among his papers ; but there is no
proof of this ; and we doubt, in common with Southey, the
tained of its author by Sir John's * ' told me that Churchill when a
Suffolk neighbour, and Churchill's " boy never showed the faintest
old schoolfellow, Lord Bristol, which " glimmer of genius. May 1781."
is somewhat opposed to that in the Sir John is mistaken as to the age
text. ** This excellent poem," says of Churchill, who was only nine-and-
Sir John, " was one of the earliest, twenty at the production of the
** if not the first production of the Rosciad, and there will perhaps be
"author, who was now about 37 no great harm in assuming that Lord
*' years old. He was of the same Bristol was not much more correct
" class at Westminster School with in his boyish recollection of his cele-
** Frederick Earl of Bristol, who brated schoolfellow.
Churchill.'] a profession ill-chosen. 263
alleged desertion of poor Lloyd which is said to have sug-
gested the satire. Even Warren Hastings profited hy his
old connexion with Westminster, when Wilkes deserted
his supporters in the House of Commons to defend the
playfellow of his dead friend ; and the irritahle Cumher-
land so warmed to the memory of his school companion,
as to call him always, fondly, the Dryden of his age.
Literature itself had become a bond of union with these
youths before they left the Westminster cloisters. The
Tahle-Talk tells of the " little poets at Westminster,'' and
how they strive "to set a distich upon six and five."
Even the boredom of school exercises, more rife in Eng-
lish composition then than since, did not check the scrib-
bling propensity. All the lads we have named had a
decisive turn that way ; and little Colman, emulating his
betters, addressed his cousin Pulteney from the fifth form
with the air of a literary veteran. For, in the prevailing
dearth of great poetry, verse- writing was cultivated much,
and much encouraged. Again it had become, as Lady
Mary Montagu said of it a few years before, as common
as taking snuff. Others compared it to an epidemical dis-
temper— a sort of murrain. Beyond all doubt, it was the
rage. " Poets increase and multiply to that stupendous
" degree, you see them at every turn, in embroidered
" coats, and pink-coloured top-knots." Nor was it pro-
bable, as to Churchill himself, that he thought the dress
less attractive than the verse-tagging. But his father, as
we have said, had other views with respect to him. He
must shade his fancies with a more sober colour, and
follow the family profession.
It was an unwise resolve. It was one of those resolves
that more frequently mar than make a life. The forced
control of inclinations to a falsehood is a common parent's
crime ; not the less grievous when mistaken for a virtue.
The stars do not more surely keep their courses, than an
ill-regulated manhood will follow a mis-directed youth.
This boy had noble qualities for a better chosen career.
Thus early he had made it manifest, that he could see for
himself and feel for others ; that he had strong sensi-
bility and energy of intellect ; that where he had faith,
lie had steadiness of purpose and enthusiasm : but that,
closely neighbouring his power, were vehemence, will,
264: AN ILL-CO^'SIDERED MARRIAGE. [Charks
and passion; and that these made him confident, in-
flexible, and very hard to be controlled. From the com-
pelled choice now put before him, one of two results was
sure. He would resist, or he would succumb : in the
one case, boasting exemption from vice, would become
himself the victim of the worst of vices ; or in the other,
with violent recoil from the hypocrisies, would outrage
the proprieties of life. The proof soon came.
Churchill had given evidence of scholarship in Latin
and Greek as early as his fifteenth year, when, offering
himself a candidate for the Westminster foundation, he
went in head of the election ; but, on standing for the
studentship to Merton-college, Oxford, three years later,
he was rejected. Want of learning, premature indulgence
of satirical tastes, and other as unlikely causes, have been
invented to explain the rejection ; but there can be little
doubt that its real cause was the discovery of a marriage
imprudently contracted some months before, with a
Westminster girl named Scot, and accomplished within
the rules of the Fleet. A marriage most imprudent,
most unhappy. It disqualified him for the studentship.
It introduced his very boyhood to grave responsibilities
which he was powerless to discharge, almost to compre-
hend. What self-help he might have exerted against the
unwise plans of his father, it crippled and finally destroyed.
There is hardly a mistake or suffering in his after life,
which it did not originate, or leave him without the
means of repelling. That it was entered into at so early
an age, and that it was effected by the scandalous faci-
lities of the Fleet, were among its evil incidents, but not
the worst. It encumbered him with a wife from whom
he could not hope for sympathy, encouragement, or assist-
ance in any good thing ; and to whom he could administer
them as little. Neither understood the other ; or had
that real affection which would have supplied all needful
knowledge.
The good clergyman received them into his house soon
after the discovery was made. The compromise seems to
have been, that Churchill should no longer oppose his
father's wishes, in regard to that calling of the Church to
which he afterwards bitterly described himself decreed,
" ere it was known that he should learn to read." He
Churchill^ london amusements. 265
was entered, but never resided, at Trinity in Cambridge.
There was a necessary interval before the appointed age
of ordination (for which he could qualify without a degree),
and he passed it quietly : the first twelve months in his
:£ather's house ; the rest in retirement, for which *' family
" reasons '' are named but not explained, in the north of
England. In that retirement, it is said, he varied church
reading with " favourite poetical amusements ; " with
what unequal apportionment, it might not be difiicult to
guess. The already congenial charm he may be supposed
to have found in the stout declamation of Juvenal, in
the sly and insinuating sharpness of Horace, and in the
indignant eloquence of Dryden — had little rivalry to fear
from the fervid imagination of Taylor, the copious elo-
quence of Barrow, or the sweet persuasiveness of South.
In 1753 he visited London, to take possession, it is said,
of a small fortune in right of his wife ; but there is
nothing to show that he got the possession, however small.
It is more apparent that the great city tempted him
sorely; that boyish tastes were once more freely indulged;
and that his now large and stalwart figure was oftener
seen at theatres than chapels. It was a great theatrical
time. Drury-lane was in its strength, with Garrick,
Mossop, Mrs. Pritchard, Foote, Palmer, Woodward, Yates,
and Mrs. Olive. Even in its comparative weakness,
Covent-garden could boast of Barry, Smith, Shuter, and
Macklin ; of Mrs. Gibber and Mrs. Vincent ; and, not
seldom, of Quin, who still lingered on the stage he had
quitted formally two or three years before, and yet seemed
as loth to depart from reaUy, as Ghurchill, on these stolen
evenings of enjoyment, from his favourite front row of
the pit. Nevertheless, the promise to his father was
kept : and, ha\"ing now reached the canonical age, he
returned to the north in deacon's orders ; whence he
removed, with little delay, to the curacy of South Cad-
bury in Somersetshire. Here he ofiiciated till 1756,
when he was ordained priest, and passed to his father's
living at Kainham.
Both these ordinations without a degree, are urged in
special proof of his good character and reputation for
singular learning ; but there is reason to suspect his
father's influence as having been more powerful than
266 SUCCEEDS TO HIS father's curacy. [Charles
either. " His behaviour," says Dr. Kippis, writing in the
Biographia Britannica, '' gained him the love and esteem
" of his parishioners ; and his sermons, though some-
" what raised above the level of his audience, were com-
" mended and followed. What chiefly disturbed him,
" was the smaUness of his income.''' This, though con-
nected with a statement as to a Welsh living now rejected,
has in effect been always repeated since, and may or may
not be true. It is perhaps a little strange, if his sermons
were thus elevated, commended, and followed, that no
one recognised their style, or could in the least commend
them, when a series of ten were published with his name
eight years later ; but the alleged smallness of his income
admits of no kind of doubt. He had now two sons, and,
as he says himself, "prayed and starved on forty pounds
" a-year." He opened a school. It was bitter drudgery.
He wondered, he afterwards told his friends, that he had
ever submitted to it; but necessities more bitter over-
mastered him. What solid help this new toil might have
given, however, was still uncertain, when, in 1758, his
father died ; ^ and, in respect to his memory, his parish-
ioners elected the curate of Rainham to succeed him.
At the close of 1758, Charles Churcliill was settled in
Westminster, at the age of twenty- seven, curate and
lecturer of St. John's.
It was not a very brilliant change, nor did it enable
him as yet to dispense with very mean resources. " The
" emoluments of his situation," observes Dr. Kippis,
who was connected with the poet's friends, and, excepting
where he quotes the loose assertions of the Annual Regis-
ter, wYotQ on the information of Wilkes, "not amounting
" to a fall hundred pounds a-year, in order to improve
" his finances he undertook to teach young ladies to read
" and write English with propriety and correctness ; and
" was engaged for this purpose in the boarding-school of
" Mrs. Dennis. Mr. ChurchiU conducted himself in his
" new employment with aU the decorum becoming his
" clerical profession." The grave doctor would thus
gently indicate the teacher's virtue and self-command, in
^ He died, Mr. Cunningham in- is tbe entry of the administration of
forms me, intestate. In the Prero- his effects.
gative Will Office, Doctors' Commons,
Churchill.'^ tutor in a lady's school. 267
showing him able to control, by the proper clerical de-
corums, his instruction of Mrs. Dennis's young ladies.
Mr. Tooke's biography more confidently asserts, that not
only as the servant of Mrs. Dennis, but as " a parochial
'' minister, he performed his duties "svith punctuality,
" while in the pulpit he was plain, rational, and emphatic."
On the other hand, Churchill himself tell us that he was
not so. He says that he was an idle pastor and a drowsy
preacher. We are assured, among the last and most
earnest verses he composed, that " sleep at his bidding
" crept from pew to pew." With a mournful bitterness
he adds, that his heart had never been mth his pro-
fession ; and that it was not of his own choice, but
through need, and for his curse, he had ever been
ordained.'
It is a shallow view of his career that can differently
regard it, or suppose him at its close any other than he
had been at its beginning. Mr. Tooke, after his peculiar
fashion, would " divide the life into two distinct and dis-
" similar portions ; the one pious, rational, and consistent ;
" the other irregular, dissipated, and licentious." During
the first portion of seven- and- twenty years, says this
philosophic observer, "with the exception of a few
^ "Much did I wish, e'en whilst I Much did I wish, though little could
kept those sheep, I hope,
Which, for my curse, I was ordain'd A friend in him who was the friend
to keep, of Pope."
Ordain'd, alas ! to keep through y ^.v at, £
need, not choice. In the same poem occurs the fine
Those sheep which never heard their aP^s^^oP^e *« ^^^^^ ^^^nd of Pope :
shepherd's voice " Doctor ! Dean ! Bishop ! Glo'ster !
Which did not know,' yet would not ^^^ ^7 ^^^^ !
learn their way, ^^ haply these high titles may accord
Which stray'd themselves, yetgriev'd With thy meek spirit ; if the barren
that I should stray ; sound _
Those sheep which my good father Of pride delights thee, to the top-
(on his bier ^ost round
Let filial duty drop the pious ^^ Fortune's ladder got, despise not
tear) oiie
Kept well, yet starv'd himself, e'en ^or want of smooth hypocrisy
at that time undone,
Whilst I was pure and innocent of ^^o, far below, turns up his won-
rhyme, dering eye,
Whilst, sacred dulness ever in my ^"^^y without envy, sees thee placed
view.
so high.'
Sleep at my bidding crept from pew The lines are in the Dedication to
to pew; Warburton, iii. 317-19; 325-6.
268 UNSETTLED THOUGHTS AKD PLANS. [Charks
" indiscretions, his conduct in every relation, as son, as
" brother, as husband, as father, and as friend, was
" rigidly and exemplarily, though obscurely virtuous ;
" while the remaining six years present an odious con-
" trast." Why, with such convictions, Mr. Tooke edited
the odious six years, and not the pure twenty-seven ; why
he published the poems, and did not collect the sermons ;
the philosopher does not explain. For ourselves let us
add, that we hold with no such philosophy in ChurchilPs
case, or in any other. Whatever the corrupting influence
of education may be, or whatever the evil mistakes of
early training, we believe that Nature is apt to show her-
self at all times both rational and consistent. She has
no delight in monsters, and no pride in odious contrasts.
Her art is at least as wise as Horace desciibes the art of
poetry to be : she joins no discordant terminations to
beginnings that are pure and lovely. Such as he honestly
was, Churchill can afi'ord to be honestly judged ; and,
when he calls it his curse to have been ordained, he invites
that judgment. He had grave faults, and paid dearly for
them ; but he set up for no virtue that he had not. In
the troubled self-reproaches of later years, he recalled no
pure self- satisfactions in the past. To have been
" Decent and demure at least,
As grave and dull as any priest,"
was all the pretence he made. It was his disgrace, if
the word is to be used, to have assumed the clerical gown.
It was not his disgrace to seek to lay it aside as soon as
might be.
That such was the direction of his thoughts, as soon as
his father's death removed his chief constraint, is plain.
His return to Westminster had brought him back within
the sphere of old temptations; the ambition of a more
active life, the early school aspirings, the consciousness of
talents rusting in disuse, again disturbed him ; and he
saw, or seemed to see, distinctions falling on the men who
had started life when he did, from the Literature which
he might have cultivated with yet greater success. Bon-
nell Thornton and Colman were by this time established
town wits ; and with another schoolfellow (his now disso-
Churchill.^ old temptations revived. 269
lute neighbour, Robert Lloyd, weary also of the drudgery
of his father's calling, to which he had succeeded as an
usher in Westminster school, and on the eve himself of
rushing into the life of a professed man of letters), he was
in renewed habits of daily intercourse. Nor, to the dis-
content thus springing up on all sides, had he any power
of the least resistance in his home. His ill-considered
marriage had by this time borne its bitterest fruit ; it
being always understood in Westminster, says Dr. Kippis,
himself a resident there, "that Mrs. Churchill's im-
" prudence kept too near a pace with that of her hus-
" band." The joint imprudence had its effect in growing
embarrassment ; continual terrors of arrest induced the
most painful concealments ; executions were lodged in
his house; and his life was passed in endeavours to
escape his creditors, perhaps not less to escape himself.
It was then that young Lloyd, whose whole life had been
a sad impulsive scene of licence, threw open to him,
without further reserve, his own reckless circle of dissi-
pation and forgetfulness. It was entered eagerly.
In one of his later writings, he describes this time ; '
his credit gone, his pride humbled, his virtue undermined,
himself sinking beneath the adverse storm, and the kind
hand, whose owner he should love and reverence to his
dying day, which was suddenly stretched forth to save him.
It was that of the good Dr. Lloyd, now under-master of
Westminster : he saw the creditors, persuaded them to
accept a composition of five shillings in the pound, and
lent what was required to complete it. In this, with the
generous wish to succour his favourite pupil, there may
have been the hope of one more chance of safety for his
son. But it was too late. At almost the same instant,
young Lloyd deserted his ushership of Westminster to
throw himself on literature for support ; and Churchill,
resolving to try his fate as a poet, prepared to abandon
his profession. A formal separation from his wife, and
a first rejection by the booksellers, date within a few
months of each other.
At the close of 1760, he carried round his first effort
in verse to those arbiters of literature, then all-powerful ;
1 In The Conference, ii. 19^-195.
S70 FIRST EFFORTS IN LITERATURE. [CharleS
for it was tlie sorry and helpless interval (so filled mth
calamities of authors) when the patron was completely
gone, and the public had not fairly come. The Bard,
written in Hudibrastic verse, was contemptuously rejected.
But, fairly bent upon his new career, he was not the man
to waste time in fruitless complainings. He wrote again,
in a style more likely to be acceptable ; and the Conclave,
a satire aimed at the Dean and Chapter of Westminster,
would have been published eagerly, but for a legal opinion
on the dangers of a prosecution, interposed by the book-
seller's friend. This was at once a lesson in the public taste,
and in the caution with which it should be catered
for. Profiting by it, Churchill with better fortune planned
his third undertaking. He took a subject in which his
friend Lloyd had recently obtained success ; in which
severity was not unsafe ; and to which, already firm as
it was in the interest of what was called the Town, he
could nevertheless give a charm of novelty. After " two
" months' close attendance at the theatres," he completed
The Rosciad.
It is not known to what bookseller he offered it, but it
is certain that it was refused by more than one. Pro-
bably it went the round of The Trade : a trade more
remarkable for mis-valuation of its raw material, than
any other in existence. He asked five guineas for the
manuscript (according to Southey, but Mr. Tooke says he
asked twenty pounds), and there was not a member of the
craft that the demand did not terrify. But he was not to
be baffled this time. He possibly knew the merit of
what he had done. Here, at any rate, into this however
slighted manuscript, a something long restrained within
himself had forced its way ; and a chance he was deter-
mined it should have. It was no little risk to run in his
position ; but, at his own expense, he printed and pub-
lished The Rosciad. It appeared without his name, after
two obscure advertisements, in March 1761.
A few days served to show what a hit had been made.
They who in a double sense had cause to feel it, doubt-
less cried out first ; but Who is He ? was soon in the
mouths of all. Men upon town spoke of its pungency
and humour ; men of higher mark found its manly verse
Churchill.'] the rosciad. 271
ticism to discuss ; and discontented Whigs, in disfavour
at Court for the first time these fifty years, gladly wel-
comed a spirit that might help to give discontent new
terrors, and Revolution principles new vogue. Thus, m
their turn, the wit, the strong and easy verse, the grasp
of character, and the rude free daring of the Rosciad,
were, within a few days of the appearance of its shilKng
pamphlet, the talk of every London cofi'eehouse.
One remarkable piece of writing in it might well
startle the town by the power it displayed. It was the
full length picture of a noted frequenter of the theatres
in those days, who had originated some shameful riots
against Garrick's management of Drury-lane, the very
vileness of whose character had been hitherto his protec-
tion, but who now saw himself gibbeted to universal
scorn, where no man could mistake him, and none
administer rehef. It is one of the masterpieces of Eng-
lish satire ; and, being dependent for its interest on
something higher than the individual likeness, it may still
be presented, as Churchill desired it should be left, without
a name.
A CHARACTER.
With that low cunning, which in fools supplies,
And amply too, the place of being wise ;
Which Nature, kind indulgent parent, gave
To qualify the blockhead for a knave ;
With that smooth falsehood, Avhose appearance charms.
And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms,
Which to the lowest depths of guile descends,
By vilest means pursues the vilest ends.
Wears friendship's mask for purposes of spite,
Fawns in the day, and butchers in the night ;
With that malignant envy, which turns pale,
And sickens, even if a friend prevail.
Which merit and success pursues with hate,
And damns the worth it cannot imitate ;
With the cold caution of a coward's spleen.
Which fears not guilt, but always seeks a screen,
Which keeps this maxim ever in his view —
What's basely done should be done safely too ;
With that dull, rooted, callous impudence,
Which, dead to shame and ev'ry nicer sense.
Ne'er blush'd, unless, in spreading vice's snares,
She blunder' d on some virtue imawares ;
With all these blessings, which we seldom find,
Lavish'd by nature on one happy mind.
273 FITZGERALD AND WEDDERBURNE. [Charks
Came simpering on : to ascertain whose sex
Twelve sage, impannell'd matrons would perplex.
Nor male, nor female ; neither, and yet both ;
Of neuter gender, though of Irish growth ;
A six-foot suckling, mincing in Its gait ;
Affected, peevish, prim, and delicate ;
Fearful It seem'd, tho' of athletic make.
Lest brutal breezes should too roughly shake
Its tender form, and savage motion spread
O'er Its pale cheeks, the horrid manly red.
Much did It talk, in Its own pretty phrase,
Of genius and of taste, of players and plays ;
Much too of writings, which Itself had wrote,
Of special merit, though of little note ;
For Fate, in a strange humour, had decreed
That what It wrote, none but Itself should read :
Much too It chattered of dramatic laws,
Misjudging critics, and misplac'd applause,
Then, with a self-complacent jutting air,
It smil'd. It smirk'd. It wriggled to the Chair ;
And, with an awkward briskness not Its own,
Looking around, and perking on the throne.
Triumphant seem'd : when that strange savage Dame,
Known but to few, or only known by name,
Plain Common Sense appear' d, by Nature there
Appointed with plain Ti-uth to guard the Chair,
The pageant saw, and, blasted with her frowoi,
To Its first state of Nothing melted down.
Nor shall the Muse (for even there the pride
Of this vain Nothing shall be mortified)
Nor shall the Muse {should fate ordain her rhymes,
Fond, pleasing thought ! to live in after-times)
"With such a trifler's name her pages blot ;
Known be the Character, the Thing forgot !
Let It, to disappoint each future aim.
Live without sex, and die without a name !
Other likenesses there were, too, named as well as
gibbeted, because taken from a more exalted and more
pubHc stage; and, prominent among them, the Scotch
lawyer,
WEDDERBURNE.
To mischief train' d, e'en from his mother's womb,
Grown old in fraud, tho' yet in manhood's bloom,
Adopting arts by which gay villains rise.
And reach the heights which honest men despise ;
Mute at the bar, and in the senate loud,
Dull 'mongst the dullest, proudest of the proud ;
A pert, prim. Prater of the northern race,
Guilt in his heart, and famine in his face.
Stood forth : and thrice he waved his lily hand—
And thrice he twirl'd his tye — thrice strok'd his band.
Churchill7\ yates and mossop. 273
But these, masterly as they might be, were only " limbs
" and flourishes ; " for of course the substance of the satire
was its picture of the Stage. And how finished was the
portraiture, how vivid its reflection of the originals, how
faithful the mirror it set up, in which the vainest, most
sensitive, and most irritable of mankind, might see them-
selves for nothing better than they were, will appear in
even the few incomplete subjects we here borrow from its
gallery.
TATES.
In characters of low and vulgar mould,
Where nature's coarsest features we behold,
Where, destitute of ev'ry decent grace,
TJnmanner'd jests are blurted in your face,
There Yates with justice strict attention draws.
Acts truly from himself, and gains applause.
But when, to please himself or charm his wife,
He aims at something in politer life,
When, blindly thwarting Nature's stubborn plan,
He treads the stage by way of gentleman.
The Clown, who no one touch of breeding knows.
Looks like Tom Errand dress'd in Clincher's clothes.
Fond of his dress, fond of his person grown,
Laugh'd at by all, and to himself unknown,
From side to side he struts, he smiles, he prates.
And seems to wonder what's become of Yates.
SPARKS, SMITH, AND EOSS.
Sparks at his glass sat comfortably down
To separate frown from smile, and smile from frown ;
Smith, the genteel, the airy, and the smart.
Smith was just gone to school to say his part j
Ross (a misfortune which we often meet)
Was fast asleep at dear Statira's feet ;
Statira, with her hero to agree.
Stood on her feet as fast asl-eep as he.
Mossop, attach'd to military plan.
Still kept his eye fix'd on his right-hand man.
Whilst tho mouth measures words with seeming skill,
The right-hand labours, and the left lies still ;
For he resolved on scripture -grounds to go.
What the right doth, the left-hand shall not know.
With studied impropriety of speech
He soars beyond the hackney critic's reach ;
To epithets allots emphatic state,
Whilst principals, ungrac'd, like lackies, wait ;
In ways lirst trodden by himself excels.
And stands alone in indeclinables ;
374 BARRY AND QuiN. [Charles
Conjunction, preposition, adverb, join
To stamp new vigour on the nervous line ;
In monosyllables his thunders roll.
He, she, it, and, we, ye, they, fright the soul.
BARRY.
In person taller than the common size,
Behold where Barry draws admiring eyes !
When lab' ring passions, in his bosom pent.
Convulsive rage, and struggling heave for vent,
Spectators, with imagin'd terrors warm,
Anxious expect the bursting of the storm :
But, all unfit in such a pile to dwell.
His voice comes forth, like Echo from her cell ;
To swell the tempest needful aid denies,
And all adown the stage in feeble murmurs dies.
What man, like Barry, with such pains, can err
In elocution, action, character ?
What man could give, if Barry was not here,
Such well applauded tenderness to Lear ?
"VVTio else can speak so very, very fine,
That sense may kindly end with ev'ry line ?
Some dozen lines before the ghost is there,
Behold him for the solemn scene prepare.
See how he frames his eyes, poises each limb,
Puts the whole body into proper trim.
From whence we learn, with no great stretch of art.
Five lines hence comes a ghost, and, Ha ! a start.
When he appears most perfect, still we find
Something which jars upon, and hurts the mind ;
Whatever lights upon a part are thrown
We see too plainly they are not his own.
No flame from Nature ever yet he caught ;
Nor knew a feeling which he was not taught ;
He raised his trophies on the base of art.
And conn'd his passions, as he conn'd his part.
QUIN.
His words bore sterling weight ; nervous and strong.
In manly tides of sense they roU'd along.
Happy in art, he chiefly had pretence
To keep up numbers, yet not forfeit sense.
No actor ever greater heights could reach
In all the labour'd artifice of speech
His eyes, in gloomy socket taught to roll,
Proclaim'd the sullen habit of his soul.
Heavy and phlegmatic he trod the stage.
Too proud for tenderness, too dull for rage.
When Hector's lovely widow shines in tears
Or Rowe's gay rake dependent virtue jeers,
With the same cast of features he is seen
To chide the libertine, and court the queen.
From the tame scene, which without passion flows,
With just desert his reputation rose :
Nor les3 he pleased, when, on some surly plan.
He was, at once, the actor and the man.
Churchill?^ david garrick. 275
HAVARD AND DAVIES.
Here Havard, all serene, in the same strains
Loves, hates, and rages, triumphs, and complains ;
His easy vacant face proclaim'd a heart
Which could not feel emotions, nor impart.
AVith him came mighty Davies. On my life
That Davies hath a very pretty wife !
Statesman all over ! — In plots famous grown ! —
He mouths a sentence, as curs mouth a bone.
DAVID GARRICK.
Last Garrick came. — Behind him throng a train
Of snarling critics, ignorant as vain.
One finds out, — "He's of stature somewhat low, —
Your hero always should be tall you know.
True natural greatness all consists in height."
Produce your voucher, Critic. — "Sergeant Kite."
Another can't forgive the paltry arts,
By which he makes his way to shallow hearts ;
Mere pieces of finesse, traps for applause —
" Avaunt ! unnatural Start, affected Pause."
For me, by Nature form'd to judge with phlegm,
1 can't acquit by wholesale, nor condemn.
The best things carried to excess are wrong :
The start may be too frequent, pause too long ;
But, only us d in proper time and place,
Severest judgment must allow them gi-ace.
If bunglers, form'd on Imitation's plan,
Just in the way that monkies mimic man,
Their copied scene with mangled arts disgrace,
And pause and start with the same vacant face,
We join the critic laugh ; those tricks we scorn
Which spoil the scenes they mean them to adorn.
But when, from Nature's pure and genuine source,
These strokes of acting flow with generous force,
When in the features all the soul's portray' d.
And passions, such as Garrick' s, are display'd,
To me they seem from quickest feelings caught :
Each start is Nature, and each pause is Thought.
* * « * *
The judges, as the sev'ral parties came,
With tamper heard, with judgment weigh' d, each claim
And, in their sentence happily agreed,
In name of both. Great Shakespeare thus decreed.
" If manly sense, if nature Hnk'd with art ;
If thorough knowledge of the human heart ;
If powers of acting, vast and uncoufined ;
If fewest faults, with greatest beauties join'd ;
If strong expression, and strange powers which lie
Within the magic circle of the eye ;
If feelings which few hearts, like his, can know.
And wliich no face so well as his can show.
Deserve the preference ; — Garrick ! take the chair,
Nor quit it— till thou place an Equal there."
T 2
276 EFFECTS OF THE RosciAD. [CJiaries
To account for the reception Satire commonly meets
with in the world, and for the scant numher of those who
are offended with it, it has been compared to a sort of
glass wherein beholders may discover every body's face
but their own. The class whom the Rosciad principally
offended, however, could discover nobody's face but their
own. It was the remark of one of themselves, that they
ran about the town hke so many stricken deer. They
cared little on their own account, they said ; but they
grieved so very much for their friends. " Why should
" this man attack Mr. Havard ? " remonstrated one. " I
" am not at all concerned for myself ; but what has poor
" Billy Havard done, that he must be treated so cruelly ?*'
To which another with less sympathy rejoined : '' And
" pray, what has Mr. Havard done, that he cannot bear
" his misfortunes as well as another ? " For, indeed,
many more than the Billy Havards had their misfortunes
to bear. The strong, quite as freely as the weak, were
struck at in the Rosciad. The Quin, the Mossop, and the
Barry, as we have seen, had as little mercy as the Sparks,
the Ross, and the Davies ; and even Garrick was too full
of terror at the avalanche that had fallen, to rejoice very
freely in his own escape. Forsooth, he must assume
indifference to the praise ; and suggest with off-hand
grandeur to one of his retainers, that the writer had
treated him civilly no doubt, with a view to the freedom
of the theatre. He had the poor excuse for tfiis fribbling
folly (which Churchill heard of, and punished), that he
did not yet affect even to know the writer ; and was him-
self repeating the question addressed to him on all sides,
Who is He ?
It was a question which the Critical Reviewers soon took
upon themselves to answer. They were great authorities
in those days, and had no less a person than Smollett at
their head. But here they bungled sadly. The field
which the Rosciad had invaded, they seem to have thought
their own ; and they fell to the work of resentment in the
spirit of the tiger commemorated in the Rambler, who
roared without reply and ravaged without resistance. If
they could have anticipated either the resistance or the
reply, they would doubtless have been a little more dis-
creet. No question could exist of the authorship, they
Churchill^ the apology. 277
said. The thing was clear. Who were they that the
poem made heroes of? Messrs. Lloyd and Colman.
Then, who could have written it ? Why, who hut Messrs.
Lloyd and Colman ? " Claw me^ claw thee, as Sawney
" says ; and so it is ; they go and scratch one another
" like Scotch pedlars.'* Hereupon, for the Critical Review
was a " great fact " then, Lloyd sent forth an advertise-
ment to say that he was never " concerned or consulted"
about the publication, nor ever corrected or saw the
sheets. He was followed by Colman, who took the same
means of announcing "most solemnly" that he was
" not in the least concerned." To these were added, in
a few days, a third advertisement. It stated that Charles
Churchill was the author of the Rosciad; and that his
Apology addressed to the Critical Reviewers, would imme-
diately be published. Before the close of the month this
poem appeared.
On all who had professed to doubt the power of the
new writer, the effect was prompt and decisive. The
crowd so recently attracted by his hard hitting, now
gathered round in greater numbers, to enjoy the clattering
descent of such well-aimed blows on the astonished heads
of unprepared reviewers. One half of the poem was a
protest against the antipathies and hatreds that are the
general welcome of new-comers into literature — the fact
in natural history, somewhere touched upon by Warbur-
ton, that only pikes and poets prey upon their kind. The
other half was a bitter depreciation of the Stage ; much
in the manner, and hardly less admirable than the wit, of
Hogarth. Smollett was fiercely attacked, and Garrick
was rudely warned and threatened. Coarseness there
was throughout, but a fearless aspect of strength ; too
great a tendency to say with willing vehemence whatever
could be eloquently said, but in this a mere over- assertion
of the consciousness of real power. In an age where
most things were tame, except the practice of profligacy
in all its forms ; when Grray describes even a gout, and
George Montagu an earthquake, of. so mild a character
that " you might stroke them ; " it is not to be wondered
at that this Apology should have gathered people round
it. Tame, it certainly was not. It was a curious con-
trast to the prevailing manner of even the best of such
278 A SKETCH OF STROLLING ACTORS. \Charles
things. It was a fierce and sudden change from the
parterres of trim sentences set within sweetbrier hedges
of epigram, that were, in this line, the most applauded
performances of the day.
Walter Scott's favourite passage in Crahbe was the
arrival of the Strolling Players in the Borough. It was
among the things selected by Lockhart to read aloud to
him, during the last mournful days in which his con-
sciousness remained. Excellent as it is, however, it is
hut the pale reflection of those masterly lines in the
Apology which we are now about to quote. As Garrick
read them, he afterwards told his friends, he was so
charmed and raised by the power of the writing, that he
really forgot he was delighted when he ought to have
been alarmed. He compared himself to the Highland
officer who was so warmed and elevated by the heat of
the battle, that he had forgot, until he was reminded by
the smarting, that he had received no less than eleven
wounds in different parts of his body.
THE STROLLERS.
The strolling tribe, a despicable race,
Like wandering Arabs, shift from place to place.
Vagrants by law, to justice open laid,
They tremble, of the beadle's lash afraid,
And fawning cringe, for wretched means of life,
To Madam May'ress, or his Worship's Wife.
The mighty monarch, in theatric sack.
Carries his whole regalia at his back :
His royal consort heads the female band,
And leads the heir-apparent in her hand ;
The pannier' d ass creeps on with conscious pride,
Bearing a future prince on either side.
No choice musicians in this troop are found
To varnish nonsense with the charms of sound ;
No swords, no daggers, not one poison'd bowl ;
No lightning flashes here, no thunders roll ;
No guards to swell the monarch's tmn are shown ;
The monarch here must be a host aloTie.
No solemn pomp, no slow processions here ;
No Ammon's entry, and no Juliet's bier.
By need compell'd to prostitute his art.
The varied actor flies from part to part ;
And, strange disgrace to all theatric pride !
His character is shifted with his side.
Question and answer he by turns must be,
Like that small wit in Modern Tragedy
Who, to patch up his fame — or fill his purse —
Still pilfers wretched plans, and makes them worse ;
Churchill^ fright of garrick. 279
Like gypsies, lest the stolen brat be known,
Defacing first, then claiming for his own.
In shabby state they strut, and tatter' d robe ;
The scene a blanket, and a barn the globe.
No high conceits their moderate wishes raise,
Content with humble profit, humble praise.
Let dowdies simper, and let bumpkins stare,
The strolling pageant hero treads in air :
Pleas'd for his hour, he to mankind gives law,
And snores the next out on a truss of straw.
But if kind fortune, who sometimes we know
Can take a hero from a puppet show.
In mood propitious should her fav'rite call,
On royal stage in royal pomp to bawl.
Forgetful of himself he rears the head,
And scorns the dunghill where he first was bred.
Conversing now with well-dress'd kings and queens,
With gods and goddesses behind the scenes.
He sweats beneath the terror-nodding plume.
Taught by mock honours real pride to assume.
On this great stage, the World, no monarch e'er
Was half' so haughty as a monarch-player.
The effect of the Apology y as we have said, was instant
and decisive. Davies tells us that Smollett wrote to
Garrick, to ask him to make it known to Mr. Churchill,
that he was not the writer of the notice of the Rosciad
in the Critical Revieio. Garrick himself wrote to Lloyd
Avith affected self-humility, as " his pasteboard Majesty of
" Drury-lane," to praise Mr. Churchill's genius, and to
grieve that he should not have been vindicated by their
common friend from Mr. Churchill's displeasure.* The
player accepted the poet's warning. There was no fear
of his repeating the hetise he had committed. To his
most distinguished friends, to even the Dukes and
Dowagers of his acquaintance, he was careful never to
omit in future his good word for Mr. Churchill ; and
never, even when describing the "misery" t\iQ Rosciad
had inflicted on a dear companion, did he forget his own
J ** In his Bosciad he rale' d me " justly or not. If the first, you
" too high, in his Apology he may " should certaiuly have opened your
** have sunk me too low; he has done " heart to me and have heard my
" as his Israelites did, made an " apology ; if the last, you should
* ' Idol of a calf, and now— the Idol " as a common friend to both have
•' dwindles to be a calf again ! To " vindicated me, and then I might
" be a little serious, you mentioned ' ' liave escaped his Apology. But
*' to me some time ago that Mr. '* be it this or that or t'other, I am
** Churchill was displeased with me, "still his gi'eat admirer," etc. —
•** you must have known whether Garrick to Uobert Lloyd.
280 UNSUCCESSFUL ACTING. [Charks
" love to Cliurcliill/' Affection for the satirist prevailed
still over pity for his victims ; and the manager and the
poet lived together in amity, and Churchill dined at
Hampton, to the last.
" I have seen the poem you mentioned, the JRosciad,'^
writes Garrick's friend. Bishop Warburton, " and was
" surprised at the excellent things I found in it ; but
" took Churchill to be a feigned name, so little do I know
" of what is going forward ;'' — this good Bishop little
thinking how soon he was to discover a reality to himself
in what was going forward, hardly less bitter than Garrick
had confessed in the letter to Lloyd, " of acting a
*' pleasantry of countenance while his back was most
*' wofully striped with the cat-o'-nine tails." The lively
actor nevertheless subjoined : " I will show the supe-
" riority I have over my brethren upon this occasion,
" by seeming at least that I am not dissatisfied." He
did not succeed : the acting was not so good as usual,
and the superiority not so obvious. For in truth his
brethren had the best of it, in proportion as they had less
interest in the art so bitterly, and, it must be added, so
unjustly assailed. " It was no small consolation to us,"
says Davies, with great naivete, " that our master was
" not spared." Some of the more sensible went so far
as to join in the laugh that had been raised against them ;
and Shuter asked to be allowed to " compote " and make
merry with the satirist— a request at once conceded.
On the other hand, with not a few, the publication of
Churchill's name had aggravated offence, and re-opened
the smarting wound. But their anger did not mend the
matter. Their Anti-Rosciads, Triumvirates, Examiners,
and Churchilliads, making what reparation and revenge
they could, amounted to but the feeble admission of their
opponent's strength; nor did hostilities more personal
accomplish other than precisely this. Parties who had
met to devise retaliation, and who were observed talking
loud against the Satirical Parson in the Bedford coffee-
house, quietly dispersed when a brawny figure appeared,
and Churchill, drawing ofi" his gloves with a particularly
slow composure, called for a dish of cofiee and the Rosdad.
Their fellow-performer, Yates, seeing the same figure
darken the parlour-door of the Rose tavern where he
Churchill?^ attacks upon the satirist. 281
happened to be sitting, snatched up a case-knife to do
summary justice ; and was never upon the stage so
heartily laughed at, as when, somewhat more quietly, he
laid it down. Foote wrote a lampoon against the Clumsy
Curate, and with a sensible after-thought of fear (excellent
matter of derision to the victims of a professed lampooner),
suppressed it. Arthur Murphy less wisely published
his, and pilloried himself ; his Ode to the Naiads of Fleet
Bitch being but a gross confession of indecency as well as
imbecility — which was more than Churchill charged him
with.'
" No more he'll sit," exclaimed this complacent and
courageous counter-satirist, whose verses, silly as they
are, will give us a glimpse of the Where and the How our
hero sat at the theatre,
* ' In foremost row before the astonisli'd pit ;
In brawn Oldmixon's rival as in wit ;
And grin dislike, And kiss the spike ;
And giggle, ) j And fiddle.
And wriggle ; J ( And diddle," &c. &e.
But Churchill returned to his front row, " by Arthur
" undismayed;" and still formidable was his broad burly
face, when seen from the stage behind that spike of the
orchestra. " In this place he thought he could best
" discern the real workings of the passions in the actors,
" or what they substituted in the stead of them," says
Davies, who had good reason to know the place. There
is an affecting letter of his in the Garrick Correspondence,
deprecating the manager's wrath. " During the run of
" Cymheline,^^ he says (and of course, his line being the
heavy business, he had to bear the burden of royalty in
that play), " I had the misfortune to disconcert you
*' in one scene, for which I did immediately beg your
'' pardon ; and did attribute it to my accidentally seeing
*' Mr. Churchill in the pit, with great truth ; it rendering
" me confused and unmindful of my business." Garrick
^ Very diflFerent was Robert he rendered worthy tribute not alone
Lloyd's masterly Epistle to C. to Lis friend the author of the Ros-
Churchill^ in which, while he gib- ciad, but to "manly Johnson," and
beted (xray, and other true men uf the
*' Murphy, or Durfey, for it's all the time,
same, "
283 RESTRAINTS THROWN ASIDE. \_Charles
miglit have been more tolerant of poor Davies, recollecting
that on a recent occasion even the royal robes of Richard
had not wrapt himself from the consciousness of that
ominous figure in the pit; and that he had grievingly
written to Colman of his sense of the arch-critic's too
apparent discontent.^
Thus, then, had Churchill, in little more than two
months, sprung into a notoriety of a very remarkable,
perhaps not of a very enviable kind, made up of admi-
ration and alarm. What other satirists had desired to
shrink from, he seemed eager to brave ; and the man,
not less than the poet, challenged with an air of defiance
the talk of the town. Pope had a tall Irishman to attend
him after he published the Dunciad, but Churchill was
tall enough to attend himself. One of Pope's victims,
by way of delicate reminder, hung up a birch rod at
Button's ; but Churchill's victims might see their satirist
any day walking Covent-garden unconcernedly, provided
by himself with a bludgeon. What excuse may be sug-
gested for this personal bravado will be drawn from the
incidents of his early life. If these had been more
auspicious, the straightforward manliness of his natural
character would more steadily have sustained him to the
last. As it was, even that noblest quality did him a dis-
service ; being in no light degree responsible for his violent
extremes. The restraint he had so long submitted to,
once thrown aside, and the compromise ended, he thought
he could not too plainly exhibit his new existence to the
world. He had declared war against hypocrisy in all
•stations, and in his own would set it no example. The
pulpit had starved him on forty pounds a-year ; the public
had given him a thousand pounds in two months ; and he
proclaimed himself, with little regard to the decencies in
doing it, better satisfied with the last service than with the
first. This was carrying a hatred of hypocrisy beyond the
verge of prudence — indulging it indeed, with the satire it
found vent in, to the very borders of licentiousness. He
stripped off his clerical dress by way of parting with his
last disguise, and appeared in a blue coat with metal
1 "My love to Churchill; his ** ceived about the house." — Garrick
*' being sick of Richard was per- to George Colman.
Churchill.'] curacy of st. john's resigned. 283
buttons, a gold-laced waistcoat, a gold-laced hat, and
ruffles.^
Dean Zacliary Pearce, afterwards Bishop of Rochester,
remonstrated with him. He replied that he was not
conscious of deserving censure. The Dean thereupon
observed, that the habit of frequenting play-houses was
unfitting, and that the Rosciad was indecorous ; to which
he rejoined, that so were some of the classics which the
Dean had translated. The " dull dean's " third remon-
strance as to dress, met with the same fate ; and it was
not until the St. John's parishioners themselves took the
matter in hand, a few months later, that Churchill
resigned the lectureship of that parish. It was just that
they should determine it, he said ; and the most severe
assailant of his turbulent life would hardly charge him
with indifference, at any time, to what he really believed
to be just. The date of his good fortune, and that of the
comfort of his before struggling family, his " brother John
" and sister Patty," were the same. The complainings
of his wife were ended when his own poverty was ended,
by the generous allowance he set aside for her support.
Every man of whom he had borrowed was paid with
interest ; and the creditors, whose compromise had left
them without a legal claim upon him, received, to their
glad amazement, the remaining fifteen shillings in the
pound. " In the instance," says Dr. Kippis, " which
" fell under my knowledge as an executor and guardian,
" Mr. Churchill voluntarily came to us and paid the ftdl
" amount of the original debt."
It was not possible with such a man as this, that any
mad dissipation or indulgence, however countenanced
by the uses of the time, could wear away his sense of
its unworthiness, or entirely silence remorse and self-
reproach. Nor is it clear that Churchill's heart was
ever half so much with the scenes of gaiety into which he
1 In one of the numberless and The better to deceive, puts off the
now utterly forgotten satires which gown ;
Churchill's popularity provoked, the In blue and gold now strutting like
Author of Churchill Dissected tells a peer
us — Cocks his lac'd beaver with a mar-
*' He skulks about, and, fearing to tial air."
be known,
284 EPISTLE TO LLOYD. \_CharIes
is now said to have recklessly entered, as witli the friend
by whose side he entered them. It is indeed mournfully
confessed, in the opening of the Epistle to that friend,
which was his third effort in poetry, that it was to heal
or hide their care they frequently met ; that not to defy
but to escape the world, was too often their desire ; and
that the reason was at all times but too strong with each
of them, to seek in the other's society a refuge from
himself.
This Epistle, addressed to Lloyd, and published in
October 1761, was forced from him by the public impu-
tations, now become frequent and fierce, against the
moral character of them both. Armstrong, in a poetical
epistle to his friend "gay Wilkes," had joined with these
detractors ; and his Bay suggested Churchill's Night. It
ridiculed the judgments of the world, and defied its
censure ; which had the power to call bad names, it said,
but not to create bad qualities in those who are content
to brave such judgments. It had some nervous lines,
many manly thoughts, and not a little questionable
philosophy ; but it proved to be chiefly remarkable for
indicating the new direction of Churchill's satire. There
had been rumours of his having intended a demolition
of a number of minor actors hitherto unassailed, in a
Smithfield Eosciad; and, to a poor man's pitiable depre-
cation of such needless severity, he had deigned a sort of
surly indignation at the rumour, but no distinct denial.
It was now obvious that he contemplated other actors,
and a very different theatre. Pitt had been driven to
his resignation in the preceding month ; " and," cried
Churchill here, amid other earnest praise of that darling
of the people,
*' What honest man hut would with joy suhmit,
To bleed with Cato and retire with Pitt ! "
" Gay Wilkes," at once betook himself to the popular
poet. Though Armstrong's Epistle had been addressed
to him, he declared that he had no sympathy with it
whatever; and he was sure that Armstrong himself, then
abroad, had never designed it for publication. Other
questions and assurances followed ; and so began the
friendship which only death ended. Wilkes had little
Churchill.'] JACK wilkes. 285
strength or sincerity of feeling of any kind ; but there is
no doubt that all he had was given to Churchill, and that
he was repaid with an affection as hearty, brotherly, and
true, as ever man inspired.
All men of all parties who knew John Wilkes at the
outset of his extraordinary career, are in agreement as to
the fascination of his manners. It was particularly the
admission of those whom he had assailed most bitterly.
" Mr. Wilkes," said Lord Mansfield, " was the plea-
" santest companion, the politest gentleman, and the best
" scholar, I ever knew." *' His name," said Dr. John-
son, " has been sounded from pole to pole as the phoenix
" of convivial felicity." More naturally he added :
" Jack has a great variety of talk ; Jack is a scholar ;
" and Jack has the manners of a gentleman." And every
one will remember his characteristic letter to Mrs.
Thrale : " I have been breaking jokes with Jack Wilkes
" upon the Scotch. Such, madam, are the vicissitudes
'* of things." There is little wonder that he who
could control vicissitudes of this magnitude, should so
quickly have controlled the liking' of Churchill. He
was the poet's elder by four years; his tastes and self-
indulgences were the same ; he had a character for
public morality (for those were the days of wide
separation between public and private morality) as yet
unimpeached; and when they looked out into pubhc
life, and spoke of political affairs, they could discover
no point of disagreement. A curious crisis had
arrived.
Nearly forty years were passed since Yoltaire, then a
resident in London, had been assured by a great many
persons whom he met, that the Duke of Marlborough was
a coward, and Mr. Pope a fool. Party went to sleep soon
after, but had now reawakened to a not less violent
extreme. The last shadow of grave opposition to the
House of Hanover vanished with the accession of
George III in 1760 ; and there was evil as well as good
in the repose. With the final planting of the principle of
freedom, implied in the quiet succession of that House,
men grew anxious to reap its fruit, and saw it nowhere
within their reach. Pitt's great administration, in the
latter years of George II, merged these opening dissatis-
g86 VIOLENCE OF PARTY SPIRIT. \Charles
factions in an overruling sense of national glory ; but, with
the first act of the young King, mth the stroke of the pen
that made Lord Bute a privy councillor, they rose again.
Party violence at the same time reawakened ; and, parody-
ing Yoltaire's remark we may say, that people were now
existing who called William Pitt a pretender and Bubb
Dodington a statesman.
To '' recover monarchy from the inveterate usurpa-
" tion of oligarchy," was, according to the latter eminent
person's announcement to his patron, the drift of the Bute
system. The wisdom of a younger party in more modern
days, which (copying some peevish phrases of poor Charles
the First) compares the checks of our English constitution
to Venetian Doges and Councils of Ten,' had its rise in
the grave sagacity of Bubb Dodington. The method of
the proposed ''recovery " was also notable, and has equally
furnished precedents to later times. It was simply to
remove from power every man of political distinction, and
replace hink.-.with a convenient creature. Good means
were taken. The first election of the new reign was
remarkable for its gross venality, nor had "undertakers"
been so rife or so active since the reign of James the First.
One borough even pubhcly advertised itself for sale; and
so far, by such means at least, the desired success ap-
peared within easy reach. But any shrewd observer might
foresee a great impending change under the proposed new
system, in the reaction of all this on the temper of the
people out of doors. Sir Robert "VYalpole did strange
things with the House of Commons, but for great popular
purposes ; and already it was manifest enough, that a mere
bungling imitation of such things, for purposes wholly
unpopular, would be quite a different matter. In a word,
it was becoming tolerably clear to such a man as Wilkes,
who had managed again to effect his return for the
borough of Aylesbury, that a good day for a Demagogue
was at hand.
He possessed the requisites for the character. He was
clever, courageous, unscrupulous. He was a good scholar,
expert in resource, humorous, witty, and a ready master
^ When this Essay was written England party under his protection,
(early in 1845) Mr. Disraeli had and the expressions referred to will
taken what was called the Young be found in Coningshy.
Churchill^ alliance with wilkes. 287
of the arts of conversation. He could '* abate and dis-
" solve a pompous gentleman ^' with singular felicity.
Churchill did not know the crisis of his fortune that had
driven him to patriotism. He was ignorant, that, early
in the preceding year, after loss of his last seven thousand
pounds on his seat for Aylesbury, Mr. Wilkes had made
an unsuccessful attempt upon the Board of Trade. He was
not in his confidence when, a little later, Mr. Wilkes
offered to compromise with Government for the Embassy
to Constantinople. He was dead when, many years later,
Mr. Wilkes settled into a quiet supporter of the worst of
" things as they were." What now presented itself in
the form of Wilkes to Churchill, had a clear unembar-
rassed front, — passions unsubdued as his own, principles
rather unfettered than depraved, apparent manliness of
spirit, real courage, scorn of conventions, an open heart
and a liberal hand, and the capacity of ardent friendship.
They entered at once into an extraordinary alhance,
offensive and defensive.
It is idle to deny that this has damaged Churchill with
posterity, and that Wilkes has carried his advocate along
with him into the Limbo of doubtful reputations. But
we will deny the justice of it. It is absolutely due to
Churchill that we should regard Wilkes from the point of
view he presented between 1761 and 1764. He was then
the patriot untried, the chamberlain unbought, befriended
by Temple, countenanced by Pitt, persecuted by Bute,
and, in two great questions which affected the vital inter-
ests of his countrymen, he was the successful assertor
of English liberty. It is impossible to derive, from any
part of their intercourse, one honest doubt of the sincerity
of the poet. He flung himself, with perhaps unwarrantable
heat^ into Wilkes's personal quarrels ; but even in these,
if we trouble ourselves to look for it, we find a public
principle very often implied. The men who had shared
with Wilkes in the obscene and filthy indulgences of
Medmenham Abbey, were the same who, after crawling
to the favourite's feet, had turned upon their old associate
with disgusting pretences of indignation at his immorality.
If, in any circumstances, Satire could be forgiven for
approaching to malignity, it would be in the assailment of
such men as these. The Eoman senators who met to
288 EXCUSES FOR A SATIRIST. \_Charles
decide the fate of turbots, were not more worthy of the
wrath of JuvenaL
As to those Medmenham Abbey proceedings, and the
fact they indicate, we have nothino^ to urge but that the
fact should be treated as it was. The late wise and good
Dr. Arnold lamented that men should speak of religious
liberty, the liberty being irreligious ; and of freedom of
conscience, when conscience is only convenience. But we
must take this time now under consideration as we find it,
— politics meaning something quite the opposite of morals ;
and one side shouting for liberty, while the other was
crying out for authority, without regard in the least to
what neither liberty nor authority can give us, without
patient earnestness in other labour of our own, of obe-
dience, reverence, and self-controL "We before remarked,
that Churchill's genius was affected by this characteristic
of the time ; and that what,, as he so often shows, might
otherwise have lain within his reach, — even Dryden's
massive strength, even Pope's exquisite delicacy, — this
arrested. It was this which made his writing the rare
mixture it too frequently is, of the artificial with the
natural and impulsive ; which so strangely and fitfully
blended in him the wholly and the partly true; which
impaired his force of style with prosaical weakness ; and
which (to sum up all in one extreme objection), con-
trolling his feeling for nature and truth by the necessities
of partisan satire, levelled what he says, in too many
cases, to a mere bullying reissue of conventional phrases
and moral commonplace. Yet he knew what the tempta-
tion should have weigh*ed for, even while he yielded to it;
and, from the eminence where Satire had placed him,
only yearned the more eagerly for the heights above.
*' Broad is the road, nor difficult to find
Which to the house of Satire leads mankind ;
Narrow and unfrequented are the ways,
Scarce found out in an age, which lead to Praise."
But it is not by the indifferent qualities in his works
that Charles Churchill should be judged, and, as he has
too frequently been, condemned. Judge him at his best ;
judge him by the men whom he followed in this kind of
composition ; and his claim to the respectful and enduring
Churchill.'] varieties of satire. 289
attention of the students of English poetry and litera-
ture, becomes manifest. Of the gross indecencies of Sir
Charles Hanbury Williams, he has none. He never, in
any one instance, whether to fawn upon power or to
trample upon weakness, wrote licentious lampoons. There
was not a form of mean pretence, or servile assumption,
which he did not denounce. Low, pimping politics, he
abhorred : and that their vile abettors, to whose e:5j:posure
his works are so incessantly devoted, have not carried
him into utter oblivion with themselves, sufficiently argues
for the sound morality and permanent truth expressed in
his manly verse. He indulged too much in personal
invective, as we have said ; and invective is too apt to
pick up, for instant use against its adversaries, the first
heavy stone that lies by the wayside, without regard to
its form or fitness. The EngHsh had not, in his day,
borrowed from the French those nicer sharpnesses of
satire which can dispense with anger and indignation ;
and which now, in the verse of Moore and Ber anger, or
in the prose of our pleasant Mr. Punch, suffice to wage all
needful war mth hypocrisy and falsehood.
In justice let us add to this latter admission, that Satire
seems to us the only species of poetry which appears to
be better understood than formerly. There is a painful
fashion of obscurity in verse come up of late years, which
is marring and misleading a quantity of youthful talent ;
as if the ways of poetry, like those of steam and other
wonderful inventions, admitted of original improvements
at every turn. A writer like Churchill, who thought that
even Pope had cramped his genius not a little by desert-
ing the earher and broader track struck out by Dryden,
may be studied with advantage by this section of young
England ; and we recommend him for that purpose.
Southey is excellent authority on a point of the kind ;
and he held that the injurious efiects of Pope's dictator-
ship in rhyme were not a little weakened, by the manly,
free, and vigorous verse of Churchill, during his rule as
tribune of the people.
Were we to ofier exception, it would rest chiefly on the
fourth published poem of Churchill, which followed his
Night, and precedes what Southey would call his tribu-
nitial career. This was the first book of the Ghost, con-
290
POETICAL TRISTKAM SHANDY. [Charks
tinued, at later intervals, to tlie extent of four books.
It was put forth by the poet as a kind of poetical Tristram
Shandy — a ready resource for a writer who seized care-
lessly every incident of the hour ; and who, knowing the
enormous sale his writings could command, sought
immediate vent for thoughts and fancies too broken and
irregular for a formal plan. The Ghost, in his own phrase,
was
" A mere amusement at tlie most ;
A trifle fit to wear away
The horrors of a rainy day ;
A slight shot-silk for summer wear,
Just as our modern statesmen are."
And though it contained some sharply written character,
such as the well-known sketch of Dr. Johnson (Pomposo),
and the allusions to laureat Whitehead ' (whom he never
^ Mr. Cunningham has favoured
me with a characteristic notice of this
attack, by Whitehead himself, copied
from the Nuneham MSS, which is
well worth preserving in a note. The
popularity of Churchill is not more
strikingly reflected in it, than the
fiue-gentleman airs with which men
of the class of Mr. Whitehead affected
to regard him. The distinguished
laui-eat, it will be observed, is
shocked to hear from Lord Nuneham
(to whose letter he is replying) that
he is alleged to have spoken dis-
respectfully of Churchill at Lady
Talbot's, when he really cannot re-
collect having ever heard the name
mentioned in such company. Never-
theless as he procee<ls he seems
substantially to admit the charge.
♦' You interest yourself very oblig-
*'ingly with regard to the abuse
* ' which the Ghost has thought
" proper to bestow upon me. But
*' I think of all those things as a
*' man of reason ought to do : if
*' what is said is true, the world
'* knows it already; if false, it will
* only in the end hurt the authors
"of the calumny. In either case
" one ought to rest contented. As
" to the speech you talk of at Lady
*' Talbot's, I really remember
'' nothing at all of the matter, nor
" that I ever heard Churchill's
* ' name mentioned in such company,
" If I was ever guilty of so vulgar
" and common place an expression,
" unless in jest, in any company at
" all, I should think I deserved a
" reprimand for it, I may have
" lamented, and perhaps with in-
" dignation, his throwing away his
"talents on subjects unworthy of
" him, and chusing to be a Poet
" upon the Town rather than con-
" suiting the moral dignity of the
** character, particularly as he was
*' a clergyman. I think so still, and
'* am afraid the worst enemy he will
" ever meet with will be himself.
'* A little of the dull method
" he complains of in me would
"be of infinite service to him,
' ' for as yet he has written nothing
'• but Rhapsodys with striking
" parts in them. His Legitimate
' ' Works are still to come ; and if
* ' they ever do come, I shall be
" one of the first to applaud thena,
"for I honour the Art though I
"seldom practise it."— IF. White-
head to Lord Nuneham, Oct. 24,
1762.
Chur chill. '\ character of warburton. 291
tires of laughing at) ; and some graceful easy humour,
such as the fortune-teller's experience of the various
gullibility of man ; it is not, in any of the higher requi-
sites, to he compared with his other writings. It is in
the octo- syllabic measure, only twice adopted by him.
The reason of his comparative failure in this verse may
be guessed. Partly no doubt it was, that he had less
gusto in writing it ; that, not having a peremptory call to
the subject, he chose a measure which suited his indo-
lence. Partly also we must take it to be, that the measure
itself, by the constantly recurring necessity of rhyme (an
easy necessity), tends to a slatternly diffuseness. The
heroic line must have muscle as it proceeds, and thus
tends to strength and concentration. The eight- syllable
verse relies for its prop on the rhyme ; and, being short,
tends to do in two lines what the heroic feels bound to do
in one. Nevertheless he could show his mastery here
also, when the subject piqued or stirred him ; and there
are few more effective things in his writings than some
parts of his character of Warburton, to be found in the
Duellist.
BISHOP WARBURTON.
*' He was so proud, that should he meet
The twelve Apostles in the street,
He'd turn his nose up at them all.
And shove his Saviour from the wall :
He was so mean (meanness and pride
Still go together side by side),
That he would cringe, and creep, be civil,
And hold a stirrup for the Devil.
* * * * *
Brought up to London, from the plow
And pulpit, how to make a bow
He tried to learn ; he grew polite,
And was the Poet's Parasite.
"With wits conversing (and Wits then
Were to be found 'mongst Noblemen),
He caught, or would have caught, the flame,
And would be nothing, or the same.
He drank with drunkards, lived with sinners,
Herded with infidels for dinners ;
"With such an emphasis and grace
Blasphemed, that Potter kept not pace :
He, in the highest reign of noon,
Bawl'd bawdry songs to a psalm tune ;
Lived ^vith men infamous and vile.
Truck' d his salvation for a smile ;
u 2
292 DOINGS OF LORD BUTE. \Charles
To catch their humour caught their plan,
And laugh' d at God to laugh with man ;
Praised them, when living, in each breath,
And damn'd their memories after death.
' * To prove his faith, which all admit
Is at least equal to his wit,
And make himself a man of note.
He in defence of Scripture wrote :
So long he wrote, and long about it.
That e'en believers 'gan to doubt it.
« * * « «
In shape scarce of the human kind,
A man, without a manly mind ;
No husband, though he's truly wed ;
Though on his knees a child is bred.
No father ; injured, without end
A foe ; and though obliged, no friend ;
A heart, which virtue ne'er disgrac'd ;
A head, where learning runs to waste ;
A gentleman well-bred, if breeding
Eests in the article of reading ;
A man of this world, for the next
"Was ne'er included in his text ;
A judge of genius, though confess'd
With not one spark of genius bless'd ;
Amongst the first of critics plac'd.
Though free from every taint of taste ;
A Christian without faith or works.
As he would be a Turk 'mongst Turks ;
A great divine, as lords agree.
Without the least divinity ;
To crown aU, in declining age,
Inflamed with church and party rage,
Behold him, full and perfect quite,
A false saint, and true hypocrite."
But to Churcliill's career as fellow-tribiine with Wilkes,
we now return. The new system had borne rapid fruit.
In little more than twelve months, Lord Bute, known
simply before that date as tutor to the heir-apparent, and
supposed holder of a private key to the apartments of the
heir-apparent's mother, had made himself a privy- coun-
cillor; had turned the Duke of Cumberland, and the
Princess Amelia, out of the liturgy ; had given himself
the rangership of Richmond Park ; had dismissed Legge
from the Exchequer, and emptied and filled other offices
at pleasure ; had made Sir Francis Dashwood, Wilkes's
quondam associate and predecessor in the colonelcy of
the Bucks militia, a King's minister; had made Bubb
Dodington a lord ; had turned out Pitt ; had turned out
Churchill. ~^ the briton and north briton. 293
Lord Temple ; had turned out the Duke of Newcastle ;
had made himself Secretary of State ; had promoted
himself to he Prime Minister ; had endued himself with
the order of the Garter ; had appointed to every lucrative
state office in his gift, some one or other of his countrymen
from the other side of the Tweed ; and had taken under
his special patronage a paper called the Briton, written by
Scotchmen, presided over by Smollett, and started ex-
pressly to defend these things. "
They had not, meanwhile, passed unheeded by the
English people. When Pitt resigned, even Bubb Doding-
ton, whilst he wished his lordship of Bute all joy of being
delivered of a " most impracticable colleague, his majesty
" of a most imperious servant, and the country of a most
" dangerous minister," was obliged to add, that the peo-
ple were sullen about it. " Indeed, my good friend,"
answered Bute, " my situation, at all times perilous, is
" become much more so, for I am no stranger to the
" language held in this great city : * Our darhng's resig-
" * nation is owing to Lord Bute, and he must answer for
" * all the consequences.' '* The truth was, that the
people of that day, with little absolute power of inter-
ference in public affairs, but accustomed to hear them-
selves appealed to by pubKc men, were content to see
their favourites in office, and to surrender the more
substantial authority for a certain show of influence with
such chosen Parliamentary leaders. But, with the words
of their " darling " ringing in their ears, — that he had
been called to the ministry by the voice of the people,
that to them he was accountable, and that he would not
remain where he could not guide, — they began to suspect
that they must now help themselves, if they would be
helped at all. It is a dangerous thing to overstock either
House with too strong an anti-popular party ; it thrusts
away into irresponsible quarters too many of the duties of
opposition. Bute was already conscious of this, when the
first number of the North Briton appeared.
The clever Colonel of Buckinghamshire miHtia, like a
good officer, had warily waited his time. He did not
apply the match till the train was fully laid, and an
explosion sure. It has excited surprise that papers of
such small talent should have proved so effective ; but
294: WRITING FOR WILKES. [Charks
mucli smaller talent would have finished a work so nearly-
completed by Bute himself. It was the minister, not the
demagogue, who had arrayed one section of the kingdom
in bitter hostility against the other. Demagogues can
never do themselves this service. Big as they talk, they
are of all classes of the community the most servilely de-
pendent— mere lackeys to the lowest rank of uninstructed
statesmen. The trade they ply is in truth a beggarly one,
being only better than the master's whom they serve ; for,
bad as it is to live by vexing and exposing a sore, it is worse
to live by making one. There was violence on Wilkes's
side ; but there was also, in its rude coarse way, success.
On the side of his opponents, there was violence, and there
was incapacity. Wilkes wrote libels in abundance ; only,
as he wittily expressed it, that he might try to ascertain
how far the Liberty of the Press could go. But his oppo-
nents, to quote the characteristic saying of Horace Wal-
pole, first stabbed the Liberty of the Press in a thousand
places, and then wrote libels on every rag of its old
clothes.
Churchill from the first assisted in the North Briton ;
and, wherever it shows the coarse broad mark of sincerity,
there seems to us the trace of his hand. But he was not
a good prose satirist. He wanted ease, delicacy, and fifty
requisites beside, with which less able and sincere men
have made that kind of work eff'ective. He could sharpen
his arrow-heads well, but without the help of verse could
not wing them on their way. Of this he became himself
so conscious, that, when a masterly subject for increase of
the rancour against the Scotch presented itself, and he
had sent the paper to press for the North Briton, he
brought it back from the printer, suppressed it, and recast
it into verse. Wilkes saw it in progress, and praised it
exultingly. " It is personal, it is poetical, it is poKtical,"
cried the delighted demagogue. " It must succeed ! "
The Prophecy of Famine, a satire on Scotland and Scotch-
men, appeared in January 1763, and did indeed ftdfil the
prophecy of Wilkes.
Its success was most remarkable. Its sale was rapid
and extensive to a degree altogether without precedent. .
English Whigs were in raptures, and the Annual Register
protested that Mr. Pope was quite outdone. Scotch place-
Chur chill ?\ plaguing the scotch. 295
hunters outstripped even the English players, in their
performance of the comedy of fear ; for they felt, ^dth a
yet surer instinct than that of SWt's spider Avhen the
broom approached, that to all intents and pui^poses of
their existence the judgment- day was come. JN^othing
could have dehghted Churchill as this did. The half-
crowns that poured into his exchequer made no music
comparable to that of these clients of Lord Bute, sigliing
and moaning in discontented groups around the place-
bestowing haunts of Westminster. He indulged liis
exuberance of delight, indeed, with characteristic oddity
and self-wiQ. "I remember well," says Dr. Kippis,
" that he dressed his younger son in a Scotch plaid, Hke
" a Little Highlander, and carried him everywhere in that
" garb. The boy, being asked by a gentleman with whom
'' I was in company, why he was clothed in such a man-
" ner ? answered with great vivacity, Bir, my father hates
" the Scotch, and does it to lolague them ! " The anecdote
is good. On the one side, there is what we may call
attending to one's child's habits ; and on the other, a
satisfactory display of hereditary candour and impudence.
There is also a fine straightforward style. Johnson him-
self could not have related the motive better. Put " his "
instead of " my," and it is precisely what Johnson would
have said. BosicelL — Sir, why does Churchill's little boy
go about in a Scotch dress ? Johnson. — Sir, his father
hates the Scotch, and does it to plague them !
He plagued them thoroughly, that is certain ; and with
good cause. We need not tenderly excuse ourselves, by
Boswell's example, for admiring the Projohecy of Famine.
" It is indeed /a/se/y applied to Scotland," says that good
North Briton ; " but on that account may be allowed a
" greater share of invention." We need not darken what
praise we give, by the reservations of the last amiable and
excellent historian of England. " It may yet be read,"
says Lord Mahon, " with all the admiration which the
*' most vigorous powers of verse, and the most lively
" touches of witm^^ earn, in the cause of slander andfahe-
" hood.'' It seems to us that, without either forced
apologies or hard words, we may very frankly praise this
Prophecy of Famine. A great poet and a faithful Scotch-
man, Mr. Thomas Campbell, did not scruple to say of it,
296 THE PROPHECY OF FAMINE. [Charks
that even to the community north of Tweed its laughable
extravagance should avail to sheathe its sting; and in
truth it is so written, that what was meant for the time
has passed away with its virulent occasion, and left
behind it but the lively and lasting colours of wit and
poetry. ''Dowdy Natiirey^ to use the exquisite phrase
with which it so admirably contrasts the flaring and
ridiculous vices of the day, has here too reclaimed her
own, and dismissed the rest as false pretences. We
should as soon think of gravely questioning its Scotch
*'cameleon," as of arguing against its witty and masterly
exaggerations. With consummate ease it is written;
sharp readiness of expression keeping pace with swiftest
ease of conception, and with never the least loitering at
a thought, or labouring of a word. In this peculiar ear-
nestness and gusto of manner, it is as good as the writers
of Dryden's more earnest century. Marvel might have
painted the Highland lass who forgot her want of food,
as she listened to madrigals all natural though rude ; " and,
" whilst she scratch'd her lover into rest, sank pleased,
" though hungry, on her Sawney's breast." Like Marvel,
too, is the starving scene of withering air, through which
no birds " except as birds of passage " flew ; and which
no flower embalmed but one white rose, " which, on the
'' tenth of June, by instinct blows " — the Jacobite em-
blem, and the Pretender's birthday. In grasp of descrip-
tion, and a larger reach of satire, the Cave of Famine
ranks higher still. The creatures which, when admitted
in the ark, " their Saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the
" dark ; " the webs of more than common size, where
" half- starved spiders prey'd on half- starved flies ; " are
worthy of the master-hand of Dryden. But the reader
will thank us for printing in detail the portions of the
poem to which we have thus referred.
" Two boys, whose birth beyond all question springs
From great and glorious, though forgotten, kings,
Shepherds of Scottish lineage, born and bred
On the same bleak and barren mountain's head,
By niggard nature doom'd on the same rocks
To spin out life, and starve themselves and flocks,
Fresh as the moniing, which, enrob'd in mist,
The mountain's top with usual dulness kiss'd,
Jockey and Sawney to their labours rose ;
Soon clad I ween, where nature needs no clothes,
Churchill.'] witty exaggerations. 297
"Where, from their youth enur'd to winter skies,
Dress and her vain refinements they despise.
*' Jockey, whose manly high-boned cheeks to crown,
With freckles spotted flara'd the golden down,
With meikle art could on the bag-pipes play,
E'en from the rising to the setting day ;
Sawney as long without remorse could bawl
Home's madrigals, and ditties from Fingal.
Oft, at his strains, all natural though rude,
The Highland lass forgot her want of food.
And, whilst she scratch' d her lover into rest,
Sunk pleased, though hungry, on her Sawney's breast.
'* Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen,
Earth, clad in russet, scorn' d the lively green.
The plague of locusts they secure defy,
For in three hours a grasshopper must die.
Ifo living thing, whate'er its food, feasts there,
But the Cameleon, who can feast on air.
No birds, except as birds of passage, flew ;
No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo.
No streams, as amber smooth, as amber clear,
AVere seen to glide, or heard to warble here.
Rebellion's spring, which through the country ran,
Furnish' d, mth bitter draughts, the steady clan.
No flowers embalm'd the air, but one white rose,
Which, on the tenth of June, by instinct blows.
By instinct blows at mom, and, when the shades
Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades.
" One, and but one poor solitary cave,
Too sparing of her favours, nature gave ;
That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride !)
Shelter at once for man and beast supplied.
There snares without entangling briars spread,
And thistles, arm'd against the invader's head,
Stood in close ranks, all entrance to oppose.
Thistles now held more precious than the rose.
All creatures which, on nature's earliest plan.
Were form'd to loath, and to be loath'd by man,
Which owed their birth to nastiness and spite,
Deadly to touch, and hateful to the sight,
Creatures which, when admitted in the ark.
Their Saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the dark.
Found place within : marking her noisome road
With poison's trail, here crawl'd the bloated toad ;
There webs were spread of more than common size.
And half-starved spiders prey'd on half-starved flies ;
In quest of food, efts strove in vain to crawl ;
Slugs, pinch'd with hunger, smear'd the slimy wall ;
The cave around Avith hissing serpents rung ;
On the damp roof unhealthy vapour hung ;
And Famine, by her children always known.
As proud as poor, here lix'd her native throne."
We cannot leave the poem without remarking the in-
genuity of praise it has extorted from Mr. Tooke. It
298 SUDDEN AND WIDE POPULARITY. [Charles
has been observed of it, he says, and for himself he
adopts the observation, " that the author displays peculiar
" skill in throwing his thoughts into poetical paragraphs,
" so that the sentence swells to the conclusion, as in
" prose ! " This we must call the first instance, within
our knowledge, of an express eulogy of poetry on the
ground of its resemblance to prose. Dr. Johnson was
wont to note a curious delusion in his day, which has
prevailed very generally since, that people supposed they
were writing poetry when they did not write prose. Mr.
Tooke and his friend represent the delusion of supposing
poetry to be but a better sort of prose.
Churchill was now a marked man. He had an un-
bounded popularity with what are called the middle
classes ; he had the hearty praise of the Temple section
of Whigs ; he was " quoted and signed " by the minis-
terial faction, for some desperate deed they but waited the
opportunity desperately to punish ; he was the common
talk, the theme of varied speculation, the very " comet of
" the season," with all men. There had been no such
sudden and wide popularity within the memory of any
one living. The advantage of the position was obvious ;
and his friends would have had him discard the ruffles
and gold lace, resume his clerical black coat, and turn it
to what account he could. *' His most intimate friends,"
says the good Dr. Kippis, " thought his laying aside the
" external decorums of his profession a blameable oppo-
" sition to the decencies of life, and likely to be hurtful
" to his interest ; since the abilities he was possessed of,
" and the figure he made in political contests, would
" perhaps have recommended him to some noble patron,
" from whom he might have received a valuable bene-
" fice ! " Ah ! good-natured friends ! Could this un-
thinking man but have looked in the direction of a good
benefice, with half the liquorish ardour of patriot Wilkes
to his ambassadorships and chamberlainships in pros-
pect, no doubt it might have fallen into his lap. What
tolly, then, to disregard it, and all for the pleasure of
abusing what it would have been far more easy to praise !
What but rank folly, for thy curse decreed,
Could into Satire's barren path mislead,
ChurchilLI above temptations of power. 299
"When, open to thy view, before thee lay
Soul-soothing Panegyric's floweiy way ?
There might the Muse have saunter' d at her ease,
And pleasing others, learn' d herself to please ;
Lords should have listen'd to the sugar'd treat,
And ladies, simpering, own'd it vastly sweet ;
Eogucs, in thy prudent verse mth virtue graced,
Fools, mark'd by thee as prodigies of taste.
Must have forbid, pouring preferments do^va,
Such wit, such truth as thine to quit the Gown.
Thy sacred brethren too (for they no less
Than laymen, bring their offerings to success)
Had liail'd thee good if great, and paid the vow
Sincere as that they pay to God, whilst thou
In lawn hadst whisper'd to a sleeping crowd,
As dull as Rochester, and half as proud."
But even the lawn itself, there is much reason to be-
lieve, would not have tempted Churchill. He " lacked
" preferment '' as little as the Prince of Denmark himself.
He had no thought that way. He had no care but for
what he had in hand ; that, whilst he could hold the pen,
" no rich or noble knave, should walk the earth in credit
" to the grave," beneficed or unbeneficed. There was
not a dispenser of patronage or power, though " kings
" had made him more, than ever king a scoundrel made
" before," whom he would have flattered or sohcited. It
was when his friend was sounding a noble acquaintance
and quondam associate as to chances of future em-
ployment, that with sullen sincerity he was writing to his
friend, *' I fear the damned aristocracy is gaining ground
" in this country. •* It was when his friend was medi-
tating the prospective comforts of a possible mission to
Constantinople, that he was beneath the portrait of his
friend devoutly subscribing the line of Pope,
*' A soul supreme in each hard instance tried."
When Horace "Walpole anticipated the figure these days
would cut in history, and laughingly described to his dear
Marshal Conway how that the Warburtons and Grono-
viuses of future ages would quote them, then living, like
their wicked predecessors the Romans, as models of pa-
triotism and magnanimity, till their very ghosts must
blush ; when he painted the great duke, and the little
duke, and the old duke, and the Derbyshire dulvc, aU-
300 RESIGNATION OF LORD BUTE. \CharIeS
powerful if they could but do what they could not — hold
together and not quarrel for the plunder ; when he set
before him stark-mad opposition patriots, abusing one
another more than anybody else, and Caesar and Pompey
scolding in the temple of concord, — though he did not
omit Mr. Satirist Churchill from the motley scene, even
Walpole did not think of impugning his rough plain-
speaking sincerity. *' Pitt more eloquent than Demo-
" sthenes, and trampling on proffered pensions like ....
" I don't know who ; Lord Temple sacrificing a brother
" to the love of his country ; Wilkes as spotless as Sallust ;
" and the flamen Churchill knocking down the foes of
" Britain with statues of the gods ! " Certain it is, that,
with far less rich material than statues of the gods,
Churchill transacted his work. It was a part of his hatred
of the hypocrisies to work with what he had before him,
— small ungodlike politicians enough, whom he broke
and trampled into infinitesimal pieces, and so constructed
the road over which Pitt passed into power.
Meanwhile his private life went on, in its impetuous
rounds of dissipation, energy, and self-reproach ; hurried
through fierce extremes, by contrast made more fierce.
One of his existing notes to Garrick is the record of a
drunken brawl, one of his letters to Wilkes the after
penance of repentance ; and painful is the recurrence of
these and like confessions, in such fragments of his rough,
reckless, out-spoken letters, as chance has preserved for us.
Unable further to resist the storm that had been raised
against him, Bute resigned on the 8th of April 1763.
The formation of the new Ministry, with Dashwood en-
nobled as Lord le Despenser; with another monk of
Medmenham Abbey, Lord Sandwich, popularly known as
Jemmy Ticitcher^ placed a few months later at the Admi-
ralty ; and with Lord Halifax, Secretary of State ; is to
be read of, to this day, in the histories, or it might possi-
bly be disbelieved. '* And so Lord Sandwich and Lord
" Halifax are statesmen, are they ? " wrote Gray. *' Do
" not you remember them dirty boys playing cricket ? "
They were still as dirty, and still playing out their
game ; only the game was much less reputable. " It is a
" great mercy," exclaimed Lord Chesterfield, " to think
" that Mr. Wilkes is the intrepid defender of our rights
Churchill.'\ number forty-five. 301
" and liberties ; and no less a mercy that God liath
" raised up tlie Earl of Sandwh to vindicate our reKgion
" and morality."
The histories also record the pubHcation, on the 23rd
of April in the same year, of the forty-fifth number of the
JN'orth Briton. A new Ministry has great superfluous
energy, and an evil hankering to use it. The wished-for
occasion was supposed to have come ; the new Ministers
thought, at any rate, that what Walpole calls a cotip-d' eclat
might make up for their own absui'd insignificance ; and
on the information of the pubHsher, who was arrested and
examined with the supposed printer, " that Mr. Wilkes
" gave orders for the printing, and that Mr. Churchill
" (the poet) received the profits arising from the sale,"
warrants were issued for the arrest of Wilkes and
ChurchiU.
The great questions that arose upon these warrants,
and Wilkes's vindication through them of the most
valuable privileges of English freedom, are well-known
matters of history. Some curious incidents, preserved
in his second letter to the Duke of Grafton, are less
notorious. "I desired to see the warrant," he writes,
after describing the arrival of the King's messenger.
" He said it was against the authors, printers, and pub-
" lishers of the JVorth Briton, No. 45, and that his verbal
" orders were, to arrest Mr. Wilkes. I told him the
" warrant did not respect me ; that such a warrant was
" absolutely illegal and void in itself; that it was a
" ridiculous warrant against the whole EngHsh nation "
(in effect, forty- eight persons were attacked under it :
pubHshers were dragged from their beds, and whole
officefuls of printers placed within durance) ; " and I
" asked why he would rather serve it on me, than on the
" Lord Chancellor, or either of the Secretaries, or Lord
" Bute, or Lord Corke, my next-door neighbour. The
" answer was, lam to arrest Mr. Wilkes. About an hour
" afterwards two other messengers arrived, and several
" of their assistants. While they were with me, Mr.
" Churchill came into the room. I had heard that their
" verbal orders were hkewdse to apprehend him, but I
" suspected they did not know his person ; and, by
" presence of mind, I had the happiness of saving my
303 A SCENE IN THE COMMON PLEAS. [_CharIes
" friend. As soon as Mr. Clmrcliill entered the room, I
" accosted him : ' Good-morrow, Mr. Thomson. ; How
" * does Mrs. Thomson do to-day ? Does she dine in the
" ' country ? ' Mr. Churchill thanked me ; said she then
" waited for him ; that he had only come for a moment
" to ask me how I did ; and almost directly took his
" leave. He went home immediately, secured all his
" papers, and retired into the country. The messengers
" could never get intelligence where he was. The fol-
" lowing week he came to town, and was present both the
" days of hearing at the Court of Common Pleas."
On the second day, another was present : a Man whose
name is now one of our English household words, but
who unhappily thought more of himself that day as the
King's Serjeant painter — a dignity he had just received
and was to wear for some brief months — than as that
painter of the people who from youth to age had con-
tended against every form of hypocrisy and vice, and,
the unbribed and unpurchasable assailant of public and
private corruption, was to wear such higher dignity for
ever. As Chief Justice Pratt delivered his immortal
judgment against General Warrants, Hogarth was seen
in a comer of the Common Pleas, pencil and sketch-book
in hand, fixing the famous caricature from which Wilkes,
as long as caricature shall last, will squint upon posterity.
Nor was it his first pictorial offence. The caricaturing
had begun some little time before, greatly to the grief
both of Wilkes and Churchill ; for Hogarth was on
friendly terms with both, and had indeed, within the
past two years, drunk " divine milk-punch " with them
and Sir Francis Dashwood, in the neighbourhood of
Medmenham Abbey. Disregarding their earnest remon-
strance, however, he assailed Pitt and Temple at the
close of the preceding year in his first print of the Times.
The North Briton retaliated, and the present caricature
of Wilkes was Hogarth's rejoinder. It stung Churchill
past the power of silence.*
•
^ Ah unpublished letter ot the plate of " The Times," in
Churchill's is before me, which September 1762. The letter is
shows that open war between worth quoting for other reasons.
Hogarth and Churchill was declared *' Dear Garrick," it begins, "Mrs.
immediately after the publication of ' ' Churchill, that sweetest and best
Churchill.]
THE EPISTLE TO HOGARTH.
303
The Epistle to William Hogarth was published in July
1763. With here and there those strangely prosaic lines
which appear in almost all his writings, and in which he
seems to make careless and indolent escape from the
subtler and more original words alike at his command,
this was a dashing and vigorous work. With an avowal
that could hardly have been pleasing to Wilkes himself,
that railing thousands and commending thousands were
alike uncared for by the writer, it struck Hogarth where
he was weakest : as well in that subjection to vanity
* ' of women, having entertained me
" with some large and unexpected
" demands from Grloucester, I should
' ' take it as a very particular favour
" it you would give me leave to
' * draw on you next week for between
" forty and fifty pounds. There is
" likely to become high fun between
*' Talbot and Wilkes — the immortal
" Passado. The only thing I like
" my gown for, is the exemption
*' from challenges." So far from
desiring exemption from challenges,
however, he would eagerly have
braved them, and already his gown
had been replaced by a gold-laced
coat ; but there was also, it is need-
less to remark, a bravado in afi'ect-
ing to be afraid. He continues :
"I am bringing out — first telling
" you that the Ghost walks at
*' Hampton on Wednesday next — a
'^Scotch Eclogue beginning thus."
He then transcribes the first twenty-
four lines of the Prophecy of Famine,
with evident and just satisfaction in
them ; but, as only four lines in this
rough draft differ in any respect
from the printed poem (as already
quoted ante, p. 296-7), they are all
that need here be repeated.
** Jockey and Sawney to their labours
rose —
Soon drest, I wean, where Nature
needs no cloaths,
Where, blest with genial suns and
summer skies,
Dress and her vain refinements they
despise."
In revising the poem for the press, he
doubtless saw at once that the third
of these lines was out of keeping with
the *' mist" and " dulness" dwelt
upon in the earlier part of the de-
scription. The letter thus concludes :
'* 1 have seen Hogarth's print ; sure
"it is much unequal to the former
' ' productions of that master of
* ' humour. I am happy to find that
" he hath at last declared himself,
" for there is no credit to be got by
' ' breaking flies upon a wheel . But
" Hogarth's are subjects worthy of
** an Englishman's pen. Speedily
" will be published, an Epistle to
" W. Hogarth, byC. Churchill.
' Pictoribus atque Poetis
Quidlibet audendi semper fuit aequa
Potestas.'
" I was t'other day at Richmond,
" but lost much of the pleasure I
' ' had promised myself, being dis-
* ' appointed of seeing you." An al-
lusion follows, not quotable, to the
Pagoda. ' ' 1 long for the opening
" of the House on many accounts,
" but on none more than the oppor-
" tunity it will give me of seeing
" that little whimsical fellow Gar-
" rick, and that most agreeable of
" women, to whom I am always
" proud of being remembered —
" Mrs. Garrick. Hubert, I hear,
" has got a weakness in his eyes.
" I am. Dear Garrick,
*' yours most sincerely,
" Charles Churchill."
The only date to this letter is
' ' Satui-day night."
804 TRIBUTE TO THE ARTIST. [C/iarks
which his friends confessed in him, as in that enslavement
to all the unquiet distrusts of Envy, " who, with giant
" stride, stalks through the vale of life hy virtue's side,'^
which he had even confessed in himself. We do not like
to dwell upon it, so great is our respect for Hogarth's
genius ; hut, at the least, it spared that genius. Amid its
savage ferocity against the man, it was remarkable for
a noble tribute to the artist. It predicted the duration
of his works to the most distant age ; and the great
painter's power to curse and bless, it rated as that of " a
" little god below."
•' Justice with equal course bids Satire flow,
And loves the virtue of her greatest foe.
Oh ! that I here could that rare Virtue mean,
Which scorns the rule of envy, pride, and spleen,
"Which springs not from the labour' d works of art,
But hath its rise from Nature in the heart ;
Which in itself with happiness is crown'd,
And spreads with joy the blessing all around !
But Truth forbids, and in these simple lays,
Contented with a different kind of praise.
Must Hogarth stand ; that praise which Genius gives,
In which to latest time the Artist Hves,
But not the Man ; which, rightly understood.
May make us great, but cannot make us good.
That praise be Hogarth's ; freely let him wear
The wreath which Genius wove, and planted there.
Foe as J am, should Envy tear it down,
Myself would labour to replace the crown.
*' In walks of humour, in that cast of style, ^
Which, probing to the quick, yet makes us smile ;
In Comedy, his natural road to fame,
Nor let me call it by a meaner name.
Where a beginning, middle, and an end,
Are aptly join'd ; where parts on parts depend,
Each made for each, as bodies for their soul,
So as to form one true and perfect whole ;
Where a plain story to the eye is told,
Which we conceive the moment we behold ;
Hogarth unrivall'd stands, and shall engage
UnrivaU'd praise to the most distant age."
But this did not avail against the terrible severity.
There is a passage beginning, " Hogarth. I take thee,
* The poetical reader who is star- text, he will constantly find in his
tied by this weak expression in the wi-itings, with regret and disap-
midst of lines so masterly, must pointment, such indolent escapes
yet accept it as characteristic of frointbeproper exercise of his vigour
Churchill : for, as we observe in the and genius.
Cur C hi II. "^ ATTACK AND COUNTER ATTACK. 305
" Candour, at thy word f marked by a racy, idiomatic,
conversational manner, flinging into relief the most deadly
abuse, which we must think fairly appalling. All who
knew the contending parties stood aghast. " Pray let me
" know," wrote Garrick, then ^dsiting at Chatsworth, to
Colman, " how the town speaks of our friend Churchill's
" Epistle. It is the most bloody performance that has
" been published in my time. I am very desirous to
" know the opinion of people, for I am really much,
" very much hurt at it. His description of his age and
" infirmities is surely too shocking and barbarous. Is
'' Hogarth really ill, or does he meditate revenge ? Every
" article of news about these matters will be most agree-
" able to me. Pray, write me a heap of stnff, for I can-
*' not be easy till I know all about Churchill and Hogarth."
And of course the lively actor sends his "loves " to both
Hogarth and Churchill. " Send me Churchill's poem on
"Hogarth," writes old money-loving Lord Bath from
Spa ; " but, if it be long, it will cost a huge sum in post-
" age." With his rejoinder, such as it was, Hogarth lost
little time. He issued for a shilling, before the month
was out, " The Bruiser, C. Churchill (once the Rev), in
" the character of a Russian Hercules, regaling himself
" after having killed the monster Caricatura, that so
" sorely galled his virtuous friend, the heaven-born
" Wilkes." It was a bear, in torn clerical bands, and
with paws in ruffles ; with a pot of porter that has just
visited his jaws hugged on his right, and with a knotted
club of Lies and North Britons clutched on his left ; to
which, in a later edition of the same print, he added a
scoffing caricature of Pitt, Temple, and Wilkes.' The
poet meanwhile wrote to tell the latter, who had gone
to Paris to place his daughter at school, that, Hogarth
having violated the sanctities of private life in this
caricature, he meant to pay it back with an Elegy, suppos-
ing him dead ; but that a lady at his elbow was dissuading
1 Portraits of Churchill are so rare The poet has a pen In his hand, and
that it may be worth while men- before him a letter, addressed to
tioning one at Lord Northampton's "Wilkes in Paris. It was presented
hospital at Greenwich, evidently of to the hospital in 1837^ by Mr,
about this date, kit-katt size, and Tatham, then warden,
not in good condition, but genuine.
806 THE poet's mistress. [Charles
him with, tlie flattery (and " how sweet is flattery," he
interposes, " from the woman we love ! ") that already
Hogarth was killed.
That the offending painter was already killed, Walpole
and others beside this nameless lady also affirmed ; and
Colman boldly avouched in print, that the Ejmtle had
" snapped the last cord of poor Hogarth's heartstrings."
But men like Hogarth do not snap their heartstrings so
easily. The worst that is to be said of the fierce assault
is bad enough. It embittered the last years of a great
man's life; and the unlooked-for death, soon after, of
assailant and assailed within only nine days of each other,
prevented the reconciliation which would surely, sooner or
later, have vindicated their common genius, the hearty
English feeling which they shared, and their common
cordial hatred of the falsehoods and pretences of the
world.
The woman whose flattery Churchill loved, may not
be omitted from his history. His connexion with her,
which began some little time before this, gave him greater
emotion and anxiety than any other incident of his life.
" I forgot to tell you," writes Walpole to Lord Hertford,
" and you may wonder at hearing nothing of the Rev.
" Mr. Charles Pylades, while Mr. John Orestes is making
" such a figure ; but Doctor Pylades, the poet, has for-
" saken his consort and the muses, and is gone off with a
" stone-cutter's daughter. If he should come and offer
" himself to you for chaplain of the embassy !" The cir-
cumstance has since been told by a sincerer man ; and we
shall alike avoid the danger of too much leniency, and too
great a severity, if we give it in his temperate language.
" He became intimate with the daughter of a tradesman
" in Westminster," says Southey in the Life of Cowper
(she is described by others as the daughter of a highly
respectable sculptor), " seduced her, and prevailed on
" her to quit her father's house and live with him. But
*' his moral sense had not been thoroughly depraved ; a
*' fortnight had not elapsed before both parties were struck
" with sincere compunction, and through the intercession
'* of a true friend, at their entreaty, the unhappy penitent
" was received by her father. It is said she would have
*' proved worthy of this parental forgiveness, if an elder
Churchill.'] poem of the conference. 307
" sister had not, by continued taunts and reproaclies, ren-
" dered her life so miserable, that, in absolute despair,
" she threw herself upon Churchill for protection." He
again received her, and they lived together till his death ;
but he did *iot, to himself or others, attempt to vindicate
this passage in his career. A poem called the Conference,
in which an imaginary lord and himself are the interlocu-
tors, happened to engage him at the time ; and he took
occasion to give public expression to his compunction and
self-reproach, in a very earnest and affecting manner.
It may be well to quote the lines. They are not merely
a confession of remorse, — they are also a proud profession
of political integrity, in which all men may frankly believe.
The poem, one of his master-pieces, followed the Epistle
to Hogarth ; right in the wake of the abundant personal
slander which had followed that work, and of the occur-
rence we have named. It began with a good picture of
my Lord lolling backward in his elbow-chair, " with an
" insipid kind of stupid stare, picking his teeth, twirling
" his seals about — Churchill, you have a poem coming
" out V^ The dialogue then begins ; and some expressions
are forced from Churchill as to the straits of life he has
passed, and as to the public patronage, his soul abhorring
all private help, which has brought him safe to shore.
Alike secure from dependence and pride, he says, he is
not placed so high to scorn the poor, " Nor yet so low
" that I my Lord should fear. Or hesitate to give him
" sneer for sneer." But that he is able to be kind to
others, to himself most true, and feeling no want, can
'' comfort those who do," he proudly avers to be a public
debt. Upon this the Lord rebukes him, setting forth the
errors of his private life.
*' Think (and for once lay by thy lawless pen),
Think, and confess thyself like other men ;
Think but one hour, and, to thy conscience led
By reason's hand, bow down and hang thy head.
Think on thy private life, recall thy youth.
View thyself now, and own, with strictest truth,
That Self hath drawn thee from fair virtue's way
Farther than Folly would have dared to stray,
And that the talents liberal Nature gave
To make thee free, have made thee more a slave."
The reproach draws from him this avowal :
X 2
308 CONFLICT OF VICE AND VIRTUE. \_Charles
" Ah ! what, my Lord, hath private life to do
With things of public nature ? why to view
Would you thus cruelly those scenes unfold
Which, without pain and horror, to behold.
Must speak me something more, or less than man ;
Which friends may pardon, but I never can ! ^
Look back ! a thought which borders on despair,
Which human nature must, but cannot bear.
'Tis not the babbling of a busy world.
Where praise and censure are at random hurl'd,
Which can the meanest of my thoughts control,
Or shake one settled purpose of my soul.
Free and at large might their wild courses roam,
If All, if All, alas ! were well at home.
No ! 'tis the tale which angry Conscience tells,
When she with more than tragic horror swells
Each circumstance of guilt ; when stern, but true.
She brings bad actions forth into review ;
And, like the dread handwriting on the wall,
Bids late remorse awake at reason's call,
Arm'd at all points, bids scorpion vengeance pass,
And to the mind hold up reflection's glass.
The mind, which starting, heaves the heart-felt groan,
And hates that form she knows to be her own.
Enough of this. Let private sorrows rest.
As to the Public I dare stand the test :
Dare proudly boast, I feel no wish above
The good of England, and my Country's love."
This man's heart was in the right place. " Where is
" the bold Churchill," cried Garrick, when he heard of
the incident as he travelled in Rome. " What a noble
*' ruin ! When he is quite undone, you shall send him
" here, and he shall be shown among the great frag-
" ments of Roman genius, magnificent in ruin ! " But
not yet was he quite imdone. His weakness was as great
as his strength, but his vices were not so great as his
virtues. After all, in the unequal conflict thus plainly
and unaff'ectedly revealed by himself, those vices had the
worst of it. What rarely happens, indeed, where such high
claims exist, has happened here, and the loudest outcry
against the living Churchill has had the longest echo in
our judgment of the dead ; but there is a most affecting
voice, in this and other passages of his writings, which
enters on his better behalf the final and sufficing appeal.
Nor were some of his more earnest contemporaries with-
out the justice and generosity to give admission to it, even
while he lived. As hero of a scene which shows the range
of his character wider than the limits of his family, his
Churchill.'] affecting anecdote. 309
dependents, or liis friends (for the kite can be as comfort-
able to the brood beneath her as the pelican or dove), the
youn^-hearted and enthusiastic Charlej Johnson took
occasion to depict Charles Churchill in Chrymly or the
Adventures of a Guinea.
Whilst he was one night " staggering" home, as the nar-
rative tells us, after a supper in which spirited wit and live-
liness of conversation, as well as rectitude and sublimity
of sentiment, had gilded gross debauchery, a girl of the
street addressed him. " Her figure was elegant, and her
" features regular ; but want had sicklied o'er their beauty ;
" and all the horrors of despair gloomed through the lan-
" guid smile she forced, when she addressed him." The
sigh of distress, which never struck his ear without afTect-
ing his heart, came with double force from such an object.
He viewed her with silent compassion for some moments ;
and, reaching her a piece of gold, bade her go home and
shelter herself from the inclemencies of the night at
so untimely an hour. Her surprise and joy at this unex-
pected charity overpowered her. She dropped upon her
knees in the wet and dirt of the street, and raising her
hands and eyes toward heaven, remained in that pos-
ture for some moments, unable to give utterance to the
gratitude that filled her heart. Churchill raised her
tenderly ; and, as he would have pressed some instant
refreshment upon her, she spoke of her mother, her
father, and her infant brother, perishing of want in the
garret she had left. " Good God ! " he exclaimed, " I'll
" go with you myself directly ! But, stop. Let us first
" procure nourishment from some of the houses kept open
" at this late hour for a very different purpose. Come
" with me ! We have no time to lose." With this he
took her to a tavern, loaded her with as much of the best
as she could carry, and, putting two bottles of wine in his
own pocket, walked with her to her miserable home.
There, with what pains he could, he assuaged the misery,
more appalling than he fancied possible ; passed the
whole night in ofiices of the good Samaritan ; nor changed
his dress next morning till he had procured them "anew
" and better lodging, and provided for their future com-
" fort ; when, repressing as he could their prayers and
" blessings he took leave." How the recording angel
310 GENEROSITY TO LLOYD. [Chavks
sets down such scenes, and enters up the debtor and cre-
ditor account of such a man, My Uncle Toby has written.
The interval of absence from London during the pro-
gress of the case of the General Warrants, he passed at
Oxford, with Colman and Bonnell Thornton ; and in
Wales, with her who had asked from him the protection
she knew not where else to seek, and whom he ever after
treated as his left-handed wife, united to him by indis-
soluble ties. On hjs return, in the autumn of 1763, he
heard that Eobert Lloyd had been thrown into the Fleet.
The Magazine he was engaged in had failed, and a dispute
as to the proprietorship suddenly overwhelmed him with
its debts. Churchill went to him ; comforted him as none
else could ; provided a servant to attend him as long as
his imprisonment should last ; set apart a guinea a-week
for his better support in the prison ; and at once began a
subscription for the gradual and full discharge of his
heavy responsibilities. There was all the gratitude of the
true poet in this : for, whatever may be said to the con-
trary, poets are grateful. Dr. Lloyd had been kind to
Churchill, and Churchill never deserted Dr. Lloyd's son.
And when, some few months later, he pointed his satire
against the hollow Maecenases of the day, — in rebuke to
their affected disclaimer of his charge that they would
have left a living Yirgil to rot, he bade the vain boasters
to the Fleet repair, and ask, " with blushes ask, if Lloyd
" is there ? "
We have called Churchill a true poet, and such, quite
apart from his satirical power, we hold him to have been.
Here, therefore, may be the place to offer one or two
examples of the steady development of his genius, in
despite of the reckless misgovernment of his life ; and of
the higher than satirical uses to which, if longer life had
been spared to him, so true a genius must ultimately have
been devoted. For this purpose we anticipate a little,
and from a poem published some months after the pre-
sent date take three passages that will richly assert its
claim to have escaped the comparative oblivion into which
it has most undeservedly fallen. The first (where the
opening lines may recall the happy turns of Goldsmith)
is an allusion to the Indian and American conquests, and
the great question of
Chur chill. '\ England and her conquests. 311
CIVILIZED AND SAVAGE.
* * Happy the Savage of those early times,
Ere Europe's sons were known, and Europe's crimes !
Gold, cursed gold ! slept in the womb of earth,
Unfelt its mischiefs, as unknown its worth ;
In full content he found the truest wealth ;
In toil he found diversion, food, and health ;
Stranger to ease and luxury of courts.
His sports were labours, and his labours sports ;
His youth was hardy, and his old age green ;
Life's morn was vigorous, and her eve serene ;
No rules he held, but what were made for use ;
No arts he learn d, nor ills which arts produce;
False lights he follow' d, but believ'd them true ;
He knew not much, but liv'd to Avhat he knew.
" Happy, thrice happy novj the Savage race,
Since Europe took their gold, and gave them grace !
Pastors she sends to help them in their need.
Some who can't write, with others who can't read,
And, on sure grounds the Gospel pile to rear,
Sends missionary felons every year ;
Our vices, with more zeal than holy prayers,
She teaches them, and in return takes theirs ;
Her rank oppressions gives them cause to rise,
Her want of prudence, means and arms supplies,
Whilst her brave rage, not satisfied with life,
Kising in blood, adopts the scalping-knife ;
Knowledge she gives, enough to make them know
How abject is their state, how deep their woe ;
The worth of Freedom strongly she ex])lains,
Whilst she bows down, and loads their necks with chains."
The next we may characterise as Churchill's Five Ages,
and the whole passage, but especially the close, we cannot
hut regard as one of the master-pieces in this class of
English poetry. The wit, the sense, the thought, the grace
and strength of the verse, are incomparable.
INFANCY, CHILDHOOD, YOUTH, MANHOOD, AND OLD AGE,
** Infancy, straining backward from the breast.
Tetchy and wayward, what he loveth best
Refusing in his fits, whilst all the while
The mother eyes the wrangler with a smile.
And the fond father sits on t'other side.
Laughs at his moods, and views his spleen with pride,
Shall murmur forth my name, whilst at his hand
Nurse stands interpreter, through Gotham's land.
" Childhood, who like an April mom appears.
Sunshine and rain, hopes clouded o'er with fears,
rieas'd and displeas'd by starts, in passion warm,
In reason weak, who, wrought into a storm,
312 THE FIVE AGES. [Charks
Like to the fretful bullies of the deep,
Soon spends his rage, and cries himself asleep,
"WTio, with a feverish appetite oppress' d,
For trifles sighs, but hates them when possess'd,
His trembling lash suspended in the air,
Half bent, and stroking back his long, lank hair,
Shall to his mates look up with eager glee,
And let his top go down to prate of me.
'* Youth, who fierce, fickle, insolent and vain.
Impatient urges on to manhood's reign.
Impatient urges on, yet with a cast
Of dear regard, looks back on childhood past.
In the mid-chase, when the hot blood runs high,
And the quick spirits mount into his eye,
When pleasure, which he deems his greatest wealth,
Beats in his heart, and paints his cheeks with health,
"When the chaf'd steed tugs proudly at the rein.
And, ere he starts, hath run o'er half the plain,
When, wing'd with fear, the stag flies full in view,
And in full cry the eager hounds pursue.
Shall shout my praise to hills which shout again.
And e'en the huntsman stop to cry Amen.
" Manhood, of form erect, who would not bow
Though worlds should crack around him ; on his brow
Wisdom serene, to passion giving law,
Bespeaking love, and yet commanding awe ;
Dignity into grace by mildness wrought ;
Courage attemper' d and refined by thought,
Virtue supreme enthroned ; within his breast
The image of his Maker deep impress'd;
Lord of this earth, which trembles at his nod,
With reason bless' d, and only less than God ;
Manhood, though weeping Beauty kneels for aid,
Though honour calls in danger's form array'd.
Though, clothed with sackcloth. Justice in the gates,
By wicked Elders chain' d, redemption waits ;
Manhood shall steal an hour, a little hour,
(Is't not a little one ?) to hail my power.
* * Old Age, a second child, by nature curst
With more and greater evils than the first,
Weak, sickly, full of pains ; in every breath
RaiUng at life, and yet afraid of death ;
Putting things off", with sage and solemn air,
From day to day, without one day to spare ;
Without enjoyment, covetous of pelf.
Tiresome to friends, and tiresome to himself,
His faculties impair'd, his temper sour'd,
His memory of recent things devour'd
E'en with the acting, on his shatter'd brain
Though the false registers of youth remain ;
From morn to evening babbling forth vain praise
Of those rare men, who lived in those rare days
When he, the hero of his tale, was young,
Dull repetitions faltering on his tongue ;
Churchill.'] paraphrase of isatah. 3 IB
Praising grey hairs, sure mark of "Wisdom's sway,
E'en whilst he curses time which made him grey,
Scoffing at youth, e'en whilst he would afford
All, but his gold, to have his youth restored ;
Shall for a moment, from himself set free.
Lean on his crutch, and pipe forth praise to me."
And observe the exquisite beauty of the lines which
follow, where the poet touchingly paraphrases what he had
doubtless often read out of his Bible to his congregations.'
Let the reader mark above all the charming effect of the
repetition, which might seem in after days to have
lingered in the ear of that great poet who was soon to
spring from the ranks of the peasantry of Scotland, and
whose genius and independence, if Churchill could have
lived to know them, would with him have far outweighed
a wilderness of Butes and Wedderburnes.
** Can the fond Mother from herself depart ?
Can she forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling whom she bore and bred.
Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed ?
To whom she seem'd her every thought to give,
And in whose life alone, she seem'd to live ?
Yes, from herself the Mother may depart,
She may forget the darling of her heart,
The little darling, whom she bore and bred,
Nursed on her knees, and at her bosom fed.
To whom she seem'd her every thought to give,
And in whose life alone she seem'd to live ;
But I can not forget, whilst life remains.
And pours her current through these swelling veins,
"Whilst memory offers up at reason's shrine,
But I can not forget that Gotham's mine."
The close of the year 1763 witnessed one or two notable
events, not needful to be other than slightly dwelt upon
here, since history has attended to them all. On the
motion of Mr. Grenville (whose jealousy of Pitt had
broken the Temple phalanx) in the lower House, the
North Briton was ordered to the hangman's hands to be
burnt ; and on the motion of Lord Sandwich in the
upper, Wilkes was committed to the hands of the
Attorney-general for prosecution, as the alleged writer
^ ** Can a woman forget her suck- "womb? Yea, they may forget,
** ing child, that she should not " yet will I not forget thee." Isaiah
** have compassion on the son of her xlix. 15.
314 THE ESSAY ON WOMAN. \_Charies
of a privately printed immoral parody of Pope^s Essay on
Man. Some whispers of this latter intention had been
carried to Churchill before the session opened, during
Wilkes's temporary absence at Paris ; but, according to
the affidavit of one of the printers concerned, the poet
scorned the possibility of public harm to his friend from
a private libel, which he did not believe him to have
written, and of which not a copy that had not been
stolen (a man named Kidgell, whom Walpole calls a
dirty dog of a parson, was the thief and government-
informer) was in circulation. He therefore roughly told
the printer who brought him his suspicions, that " for
" anything the people in power could do, they might be
" damned." But he had greatly underrated, if not the
power of these people in the ordinary sense, at least their
power of face.
Lord Sandwich rose in his place in the House of Lords,
the Essay on Woman in his hand, with all the indignant
gravity of a counsel for the morality of the entire kingdom.
" It was blasphemous ! '' exclaimed the first Lord of the
Admiralty. And who should know blasphemy better
than a blasphemer ? The first Lord had been expelled
the Beef-steak Club, not many years before, for the very
sin he now charged on "Wilkes. But he knew his audi-
ence, and went steadily on. He read the Essay on Woman,
until the decorous Lord Lyttelton begged that the reading
might be stopped : he dwelt upon a particular note, which,
by way of completing the burlesque, bore the name of
Pope's last editor, until Warburton rose from the bench of
Bishops, begged pardon of the devil for comparing him
with Wilkes, and said the blackest fiends in hell would not
keep company with the demagogue when he should arrive
there. Nothing less than the expulsion of the man from
Parliament (he was already expelled from the Colonelcy of
the Bucks militia, and Lord Temple from the Bucks lord-
lieutenancy for supporting him) could satisfy this case.
Expulsion was a happy expedient for controlling the
elective franchise, which the popular Walpole had him-
self resorted to ; but in such wise that the popular
franchise seemed all the more safely guaranteed by it.
Now the people saw it revived and enforced, for purposes
avowedly and grossly unpopular. They were asked, by
Churchill.^ prosecution of wilkes. 315
men whose whole lives had shamelessly proclaimed the too
prevalent divorce between politics and morals, to sanction
the principle that a politician should be made accountable
for immorality ; and Morality herself, howsoever regret-
ting it, might hardly blame them for the answer they
gave. They resisted. They stood by Wilkes more de-
terminedly than ever, and excitement was raised to a
frightful pitch. A friend of Sandwich's, who, the day
after his motion against the Essay, cried out exultingly
that " nobody but he could have struck a stroke like
" this," was obliged to confess, only eight days later, that
the " blasphemous book had fallen ten times heavier on
" Sandwich's head than on Wilkes's, and had brought
" forward such a catalogue of anecdotes as was incredible."
Nay, so great was the height things went to, that even
Norton's impudence forsook him ; and Warburton, who
had expunged Pitt's name for Sandwich's in the dedica-
tion to his forthcoming Sermons^ thought it best to rein-
state Pitt very suddenly.
Nevertheless, the result of the ministerial prosecution
drove Wilkes to France. There was a design that
Churchill, after publication of the poem which arose out
of these transactions, and which Horace Walpole thought
'' the finest and bitterest of his works " (the Duellist),
should have followed his friend ; inquiries being mean-
while set on foot as to whether the French government
would protect them in efforts to assail their own. The
answer was favourable, but the scheme was not pursued.
On excellent grounds it has been surmised that ChurchiU's
English feehng revolted at it ; and he was essential to
its success. For, his reputation even now, limited as his
themes had been, was not limited to England. " I don't
" know," wrote Horace Walpole to Sir H. Mann, in one
of his lately published letters, " whether this man's fame
" has extended to Florence ; but you may judge of the
" noise he makes in this part of the world by the following
" trait, which is a pretty instance of that good-breeding
" on which the French pique themselves. My sister and
" Mr. Churchill are in France. A Frenchman asked him
" if he was Churchill le fameux poete ? — Non. — Ma foiy
" Monsieu7\ tant pis pour vous ! " To think that it should
be so much the worse for the son of a General, and the
316 NOT so BAD AS HE SEEMED. [Charks
husband of a Lady Maria, daughter to an Earl, not to
be a low-bred scribbler ! Nevertheless, to this day, the
world takes note of only one Charles Churchill. Whether
so much the worse, or so much the better, for the other,
it is not for us to decide.
The poet, then, stayed in England ; and worked at his
self-allotted tasks with greater determination than ever.
Satire has the repute of bringing forth the energies of
those who, on other occasions, have displayed but few and
feeble ; and many a man from whom nothing vigorous
was looked for, has lost his cramps and stiffnesses among
the bubbles of these hot springs. We need not wonder,
therefore, that Churchill, though with his Beef-steak and
other clubs to attend to, his North Briton to manage, and,
not seldom, sharp strokes of illness to struggle with, should
never have sent forth so many or such masterly works as
in the last nine months of his rapid and brilliant career.
He was also able to do so much, because he was
thorough master of what he had to do. He understood
his own powers too completely to lay any false strain upon
them. The ease with which he composed is often men-
tioned by him, though with a difference. To his Friend
he said that nothing came out till he began to be pleased
with it himself, while to the Public he boasted of the
haste and carelessness with which he sat down and dis-
charged his rapid thoughts. Something between the two
would probably come nearest the truth. No writer is at
all times free from what Ben Jonson calls, "pinching
" throes;" and Churchill frequently confesses them. It
may have been, indeed, out of a bitter sense of their
intensity that he used the energetic phrase, afterwards
remembered by his publisher, that "blotting was like
" cutting away one's own flesh.'* But though this, and
other marks of the genus irritahile, undoubtedly declared
themselves in him, he did not particularly affect the life
of a man of letters, and, for the most part, avoided that
kind of society; for which Dr. Johnson pronounced him
a blockhead. Boswell remonstrated. " Well, sir," said
Johnson, " I will acknowledge that I have abetter opinion
" of him than I once had; for he has shown more fertility
** than I expected. To be sure, he is a tree that cannot
" produce good fruit ; he only bears crabs. But, sir, a
Chur chill, '\ country house and sports. 317
" tree that produces a great many crabs is better than a
** tree which produces only a few/'
Such as it was — and it can afford that passing touch
of blight — the tree was now planted on Acton-common.
After the departuie of Wilkes, he had moved from his
Eichmond residence into a house there, described by
the first of his 'biographers, two months after his death,
to have been furnished with extreme elegance ; and
where he is said, by the same worthy scribe, to have
" kept his post-chaise, saddle-horses, and pointers ; " and
to have " fished, fowled, hunted, coursed, and Hved in an
"independent, easy manner." He did not however so
live, as to be unable carefully to lay aside an honourable
provision for all who were dependent on him. This, it is
justly remarked by Southey, was his meritorious motive
for that greediness of gain with which he was reproached ;
— as if it were any reproach to a successful author, that
he doled out his writings in the way most advantageous
to himself, and fixed upon them as high a price as his
admirers were willing to pay. Cowper has made allusion
to some of these points, in his fine delineation of his old
friend and school-fellow, in the Table- Talk.^
^ "Contemporaries all surpass' d, Spendthrift alike ot money and of
see one, wit,
Short his career, indeed, but ably Always at speed, and never drawing
run. bit,
Churchill, himself unconscious of his He struck the lyre in such a careless
powers, mood.
In penury consumed his idle hours, And so disdain'd the rules he under-
And like a scatter'd seed at random stood,
sown, The laurel seem'd to wait on his
Was left to spring by vigour of his command,
own. He snatch' d it rudely from the
Lifted at length, by dignity of Muse's hand."
thought
Anddintof genius, to an affluent lot, I subjoin also, from Cowper's
He laid his head in luxury's soft lap, delightful correspondence, what he
And took too often there his easy wrote to Mr. Unwin in 1786, on
nap. the appearance of a new edition of
If brighter beams than all he threw the English Poets. * ' It is a great
not forth, "thing to be indeed a poet, and
'Twas negligence in him, not want " does not happen to more than one
of worth. " man in a century. Churchill, the
Surly and slovenly and bold and * ' great Churchill, deserved the
coarse, " name of poet ; I have read him
Too proud for art, and trusting in " twice, and some of his pieces three
i mere force ; "times over, and the last time
I .
318 cowper's praise of his schoolfellow. [Charles
Tlie Author J published almost contemporaneously with
the Duellist, had the rare good fortune to please even his
critics. Horace Walpole could now admit, that even
when the satirist was not assailing a Holland or a War-
burton, the world were "transported" with his works,
** with more pleasure than the
*' first. The pitiful scribbler of
*' his life seems to have unJer-
*' taken that task, for which he
*' was entirely unqualified, merely
*' because it afforded him an op-
* ' portunity to traduce him. He
** has inserted in it but one anecdote
** of consequence, for which he re-
** fers you to a novel, and intro-
*' duces the story with doubts about
** the truth of it. But his barren-
* ' ness as a biographer I could forgive,
** if the simpleton had not thought
" himself a judge of his writings,
** and under the erroneous influence
** of that thought, informed his
*' reader that Gotham, Independ-
*' ence, and the Times, were catch-
*' pennies. GolTiam, unless I am a
** greater blockhead than he, which
*' I am far from believing, is a noble
*' and beautiful poem, and a poem
*' with which I make no doubt the
*' author took as much pains as
*' with any he ever wrote. Making
*' allowance (and Dryden, in his
** Absalom and Achitophel, stands
** in need of the same indulgence)
*' for an unwarrantable use of Scrip-
*' ture, it appears to me to be a
*' masterly performance. Independ-
*' ence is a most animated piece,
*' full of strength and spirit, and
*' marked with that bold mas-
** culine character which, I think, is
** the great peculiarity of this writer,
** And the Times (except that the
*' subject is disgusting to the last
** degree) stands equally high in
** my opinion. He is indeed a
** careless writer for the most pai-t ;
*' but where shall we find, in any of
*' those authors who finish their
** works with the exactness of a
" Flemish pencil, those bold and
'* daring strokes of fancy, those
" numbers so hazardously ventured
** upon and so happily finished, the
'* matter so compressed and yet
" so clear, and the colouring so
* ' sparingly laid on and yet with
** such a beautiful efiect ? In short,
"it is not his least praise that he
** is never guilty of those faults as
** a writer, which he lays to the
" charge of others. A proof that
*' he did not judge by a borrowed
*' standard, or from rules laid
" down by critics, but that he was
*' qualified to do it by his own na-
*' tive powers, and his great supe-
*' riority of genius. For he that
" wrote so much and so fast, would,
" through inadvertency and hurry,
*' unavoidably have departed from
** rules which he might have found
*' in books ; but his own truly
*' practical talent was a guide
" which could not suffer him to err.
** A race-horse is graceful in his
** swiftest pace, and never makes
" an awkward motion though he is
" pushed to his utmost speed. A
" cart-horse might perhaps be
" taught to play tricks in the
•* riding- school, and might prance
*' and curvet like his betters, but
" at some unlucky time would be
* * sure to betray the baseness of his
** original. It is an affair of very
" little consequence perhaps to the
** well-being of mankind, but I can-
" not help regretting that he died
** so soon. Those words of Virgil,
*' upon the immature death of
** Marcellus, might serve for his
" epitaph :
* Ostendentterrishimc tantumfata,
neque ultra
Esse siuent.' "
Sovihey's Cowpcr, vol. vi. p. 9 — 11.
Chur chill. 1 poem on a patriot king. 319
and his numbers were indeed "like Dryden's." The
Monthly Reviewers sent forth a frank eulogium, while
even the Critical found it best to forget their ancient
grudge. And in the admirable qualities not without
reason assigned to it, the Author seems to us to have
been much surpassed by his next performance, Gotham.
When Cowper fondly talked, as it was his pleasure
and his pride to do, of *' Churchill, the great Churchill,
" for he well deserved the name," it was proof of his taste
that he dwelt with delight on this " noble and beautiful "
poem. Its object was not clearly comprehended at
the first, but, as it proceeded, became evident. It was
an Idea of a Patriot King, in verse ; and in verse of
which, with all its carelessness, we hold with Cowper
that few exactor writers of his class have equalled, for
its " bold and daring strokes of fancy ; its numbers so
" hazardously ventured upon, and so happily finished; its
'* matter so compressed, and yet so clear; its colouring so
" sparingly laid on, and yet with such a beautiful effect."
Largely would we have added, if possible, to the quotations
already given from this poem, and it is with much regret
we necessarily restrict ourselves to but one passage more.
It is a piece of descriptive poetry of a very high class.
The reader's national pride, if he be a Scotchman, will
not intercept his admiration of the wit of the verse which
precedes the fine picture of the cedar; and he will
admire through all the lines, but especially at their close,
the excellent and subtle art with which the verse seconds
the sense.
Forming a gloom, throiigh which to spleen-struck minds
Religion, horror-stamp'd, a passage finds,
The Ivy, crawling o'er the hallow' d cell,
"Where some old hermit's wont his beads to tell
By day, by night ; the Myrtle ever green,
Beneath whose shacje love holds his rites unseen ;
The Willow, weeping o'er the fatal wave
"Where many a lover finds a watery grave ;
The Cypress sacred held, when lovers mourn
Their true love snatch'd away ; the Laurel worn
By poets in old time, but destin'd now.
In grief to wither on a "Whitehead's brow ;
The Fig, which, large as what in India grows,
Itself a grove, gave our first parents cloaths ;
The Vine, which, like a blushing new-made bride,
Clustering, empurples all the mountain's side ;
S20 NOBLE DESCRIPTIVE VERSES. \Charles
The Yew, which, in the place of sculptur'd stone,
Marks out the resting-place of men unknown ;
The hedge-row Elin ; the Pine of mountain race ;
The Fir, the Scotch Fir, never out of place ;
The Cedar, whose top mates the highest cloud,
Whilst his old father Lebanon grows proud
Of such a child, and his vast body laid
Out many a mile, enjoys the filial shade ;
The Oak, when living, monarch of the wood ;
The English Oak, which, dead, commands the flood ;
All, one and all, shall in this Chorus join.
And, dumb to others' praise, be loud in mine ....
The Showers, which make the young hills, like young lambs,
Bound and rebound, the old hills, like old rams,
Unwieldy, jump for joy ; the Streams, which glide,
Whilst Plenty marches smiling by their side.
And from their bosom rising Commerce springs ;
The Winds which rise with healing on their wings.
Before whose cleansing breath contagion flies ;
The Sun, who, travelling in eastern skies.
Fresh, full of strength, just risen from his bed.
Though in Jove's pastures they were born and bred.
With voice and whip can scarce make his steeds stir,
Step by step up the perpendicular ;
Who, at the hour of eve, panting for rest,
EoUs on amain, and gallops down the west,
As fast as Jehu, oil'd for Ahab's sin.
Drove for a crown, or postboys for an inn ;
The Moon, who holds o'er night her silver reign,
Kegent of tides, and mistress of the brain.
Who to her sons, those sons who own her power,
And do her homage at the midnight hour,
Gives madness as a blessing, but dispenses
Wisdom to fools, and damns them with their senses ;
The Stars, who, by I know not what strange right,
Preside o'er mortals in their own despite,
Who without reason govern those, who most
(How truly judge from hence !) of reason boast,
And, by some mighty magic yet unknown.
Our actions guide, yet cannot guide their own ;
All, one and all, shall in this Chorus join.
And, dumb to others' praise, be loud in mine."
Gotham was less successful than the more personal
satires, and the author might have felt, as his *' great
" high priest of all the nine " did, when he remembered
the success of MacFlecknoe, amid the evil days on which
the Religio Laid and the Hind and Panther had fallen.
Nothing ever equalled a satire for a sale, said the old
bookseller Johnson to his son Samuel — a good swinging
satire, "or a SacheverelVs Trial!'' There was no need,
however, that Churchill should have had tliis recalled to
Churchill.'] character of lord sandwich. 321
his memory, for so timely a subject came unexpectedly to
hand, that in no case could he have resisted it. Lord
Sandwich became a candidate for the high stewardship of
Cambridge University. "I thank you," ^^ToteLord Bath
to Colman, "for the Candidate, which is, in my opinion,
" the severest and the best of all Churchill's works. He
" has a great genius, and is an excellent poet." Not-
withstanding wliich praise, from a somewhat questionable
critic, we shall not hesitate to aver that the Candidate
really is an excellent poem, with lines as fine in it as any
from ChurchilFs hand. Such are those, wherein the
miseries of evil counsel to royalty are dwelt upon ; and
Kings are described as " made to draw their breath, In
'' darkness thicker than the shades of Death." But we
must present, in detail, at least a part of the portrait of
Lord Sandwich, its hero.
" From his youth upwards to the present day,
When vices more than years have marked him grey ;
When riotous excess with wasteful hand
Shakes life's frail glass, and hastes each ebbing sand,
Unmindful from what stock he drew his buth,
Untainted with one deed of real worth,
Lothario, holding honour at no price,
Folly to folly added, vice to vice,
Wrought sin with greediness, and sought for shame
With greater zeal than good men seek for fame.
" Where (reason left without the least defence)
Laughter was mirth, obscenity was sense,
Where impudence made decency submit,
Where noise was humour, and where whim was wit.
Where rude, untemper'd license had the merit
Of liberty, and lunacy was spirit.
Where the best things were ever held the worst,
Lothario was, with justice, always first.
" To whip a top, to knuckle down at taw.
To swing upon a gate, to ride a straw.
To play at push-pin with dull brother peers,
To belch out catches in a porter's ears,
To reign the monarch of a midnight cell,
To be the gaping chairman's oracle.
Whilst, in most blessed union, rogue and whore
Clap hands, huzza, and hiccup out. Encore,
Whilst grey authority, who slumbers there
In robes of watchman's fur, gives up his chair ;
With midnight howl to bay the atfrighted moon,
To walk with torches through the streets at noon.
To force plain nature from her usual way.
Each night a vigil, and a blank each day,
To match for speed one feather 'gainst another
To make one leg nm races Avith his brother.
322 LAST PUBLISHED POEMS. [Charks
'Gainst all the rest to take the northern wind,
Bute to ride first, and He to ride behind,
To coin newfangled wagers, and to lay 'em,
Laying to lose, and losing not to pay 'em ;
Lothario, on that stock which nature gives,
Without a rival stands, though March yet lives. ''^
Admirable is all this, without question, and the last is a
fine touch ; though it might perhaps be doubted, were we
closely to compare it with the character of Buckingham by
Dryden, whether it might not seem as an impressive and
startling list of materials for satire, rather than as that
subtler extract of the very spirit of satire itself which
arrests us in the elder poet. But it is writing of a most
rare order.
The Farewell, and the Times (the latter to be referred
to only as Dryden refers to some of the nameless pro-
ductions of Juvenal, tragical provocations tragically
revenged), now followed in rapid succession ; and Inde-
pendence, the last work published while he lived, appeared
at the close of September 1764. It is a final instance of
Mr. Tooke's misfortunes in criticism, that, though he
admits this poem to display " vigour " in some scattered
passages, he sets it down as " slovenly in composition,
" hacknied in subject, and commonplace in thought."
It is very far from this ! A noble passage at the com-
mencement is worthy of Ben Jonson himself, and very
much in his manner.
*' What is a Lord ? Doth that plain simple word
Contain some magic spell ? As soon as heai-d,
Like an alarum bell on Night's dull ear.
Doth it strike louder, and more strong appear
Than other words ? Whether we will or no,
Through reason's court doth it unquestion'd go
E'en on the mention ? and of course transmit
Notions of something excellent, of wit
Pleasing, though keen ? of humour free, though chaste ?
Of sterling genius with sound judgment graced ?
Of virtue far above temptation's reach.
And honour, which not malice can impeach ?
Believe it not. 'Twas Nature's first intent,
Before their rank became their punishment.
They should have pass'd for men, nor blush'd to prize
The blessings she bestow'd. She gave them eyes,
And they could see. She gave them ears, they heard :
The instruments of stirring, and they stirr'd.
Like us, they were design'd to eat, to drink,
To talk, and (every now and then) to think.
ChurchiIL~\ a self-painted portrait. 323
Till they, by pride corrupted, for the sake
Of singularity, disclaim' d that make ;
Till they, disdaining Nature's vulgar mode,
Flew off, and struck into another road
More fitting quality : and to our view
Came forth a species altogether new.
Something we had not known, and could not know,
Like nothing of God's making here below.
Nature exclaim'd with wonder. Lords are things,
Which, never Tnade by Me, were made by Kings 1 "
The same poem contains a full4ength portrait of the
poet, with the unscrupulous but Kfelike mark of his own
strong, coarse, unflattering hand ; in which he laughs at
himself as an '^unlick'd" bear ; depicts himself "rolling"
in his walk, " much like a porpoise just before a storm ; "
plays in short the Hogarth to his own most ludicrous
defects, and displays his ungainly foppery.
" Broad were his shoulders, and from blade to blade,
A H might at full length have laid ;
Vast were his bones, his muscles twisted strong.
His face was short, but broader than 'tAvas long.
His features, though by nature they were large,
Contentment had contrived to overcharge
And bury meaning, save that we might spy
Sense lowering on the pent-house of his eye ;
His arms were two twin oaks, his legs so stout,
That they might bear a mansion-house about,
Nor were they, look but at his body there,
Design'd by fate a much less weight to bear.
"O'er a brown cassock, which had once been black,
Which hung in tatters on his brawny back,
A sight most strange, and awkward to behold,
He threw a covering of blue and gold.
Just at that time of life, when man, by rule
The fop laid dowTi, takes up the graver fool,
He started up a fop, and, fond of show,
Look'd like another Hercules turn'd beau.
A subject, met with only now and then.
Much fitter for the pencil than the pen ;
Hogarth would draw him (Envy must allow)
E'en to the life, was Hogarth living now."
Hogarth was " living now," but, at the moment when
the words were written, within view of his death-bed.
Churchill little knew how nearly he approached his own ;
and yet, in the unfinished Journey, the last fragment
found among his papers (for the severe and masterly
Dedication to Warhurton, though posthumously published,
was of earHer date), there was a strange, half conscious,
Y 2
324 A SOLITARY JOURNEY. \Charles
glimmering sense, of the fate that now impended. The
lamentations of his good-natured friends, that, but for
his unhappy lust of pubHshing so fast, " he might have
" flourished twenty years or more, Though now, alas !
" poor man, worn out in four y^ were here noticed in some
of his most vigorous verses. He proposes to take their
advice, but finds the restraint too hard. Prose will run
into verse. " If now and then I curse, my curses chime;
" Nor can I pray, unless I pray in rhyme." He therefore
entreats that they will once more be charitable even to
his excesses, and read, "no easy task, hut prohably the last
" that I shall ask," that little poem. He calls it the plain
unlaboured Journey of a Day ; warns ofi* all who would
resort to him for the stronger stimulants ; exhorts the
Muses, in some of his happiest satire, to divert themselves
with contemporary poets in his absence ; in that way,
bids them their appetite for laughter feed ; and closes
with the line,
* * I on my Journey all alone proceed ! "
The poem was not meant to close here ; but a Greater
Hand interposed. That Hne of mournful significance is
the last that was written by Churchill.
A sudden desire to see Wilkes took him hastily to
Boulogne on the 22nd of October 1764. "Dear Jack,
" adieu ! C. C' — was the laconic announcement of his
departure to his brother. At Boulogne, on the 29th of
October, a miKary fever seized him, and baffled the
physicians who were called in. The friends who sur-
rounded his bed gave way to extreme distress : it was a
moment when probably even Wilkes felt : but Churchill
preserved his composure. He was described, afterwards,
checking their agitated grief, in the Hues with which he
had calmly looked forward to this eventful time.
" Let no unworthy sounds of grief be heard,
No wild laments, not one unseemly word ;
Let sober triumphs wait upon my bier,
I won't forgive that friend who sheds one tear.
"Whether he 's ravish'd in life's early mom,
Or, in old age, drops like an ear of corn.
Full ripe he falls, on nature's noblest plan,
"Who lives to reason, and who dies a man. "
Churchill.'] death. 325
He sat up in his bed, and dictated a brief, just will.
He left his wife an annuity of 60/, and an annuity of 50/
to the woman he had seduced. He provided for his two
boys. He left mourniag rings to Lord and Lady Temple,
and to Wilkes, Lloyd, Cotes, Walsh, and the Duke of
Grafton ; and he desired his " dear friend, John Wilkes,
" to collect and pubKsh his works, with the remarks and
" explanations he has prepared, and any others he thinks
" proper to make." He then expressed a wish to be
removed, that he might die in England ; and the impru-
dent measures of his friends, in compliance with this wish,
hastened the crisis. On the 4th of November 1764, at
Boulogne, and in the thirty-third year of his age, Charles
Churchill breathed his last.
Warburton said he had perished of a drunken debauch —
a statement wholly untrue. Actor Davies said that his last
expression was " What a fool I have been ! " — a statement
contradicted by the tenor of his will, and specially denied
by Wnkes. Garrick, who was in Paris at the time, wrote
to Colman when their common friend had been six days
dead : *' Churchill, I hear, is at the point of death at
*' Boulogne. I am sorry, very sorry for him. Such
" talents, with prudence, had commanded the nation. I
" have seen some extracts I don't admire." ' What is not
^ Two days after this date he *' have likewise sent the key of the
wrote to his brother George, also *' table in the study window, where
from Paris, a letter which has not *' I believe is the key of the iron
yet been published, and which one ** box. I thought it might be ne-
must sorrowfully confess bears out *' eessary to send you that, to look
Foote's favourite jokes about his *' for Hubert's bond, and a note of
remarkably strong box, and his very ' ' hand of Churchill, who you know
keen regard for its contents. When '* is dead. Mr. Wilkes tells me
he wrote to Colman, he only knew that ** there is money enough for all his
Churchill was dangerously ill; of the "debts, and money besides for his
death he could not have heard till the *' wife, Miss Carr whom he lived
day before, or the very day on which "with, &c. &c. You'll do with
he wrote this letter, now to be pub- " both what is proper, but put in
lished ; yet the reader will perceive " your claim. Colman will tell you
that it is certainly not the emotion *' where the money is. Churchill,
of grief which he thinks primarily " you'll see, paid me 40^ (I think)
due to the memory of his friend: '* of the note — which is either in
'* My dear George," he writes, "I " the iron chest with the rest, or
*' have just time to send you this " in the table itself in the study.
" scrap of a note by my friend Mr. ** Make use of the Florence wine,
"Burnett, a most sensible man, ** or what else belongs to your ever
"and a great Scotch lawyer. I " affectionate brother, D. Garrick.'
326 FALSE AND TRUE MOURNERS. [Chavks
to be admired in a satirist, is generally discovered just
before or just after bis death ; what is admired runs equal
danger of unseasonable worship. There was a sale of his
books and furniture, at which the most extravagant prices
were given for articles of no value. A common steel-pen
brought five pounds, and a pair of plated spurs sixteen
guineas. The better to supply, too, the demands of
pubHc curiosity, vulgar letters were forged in his name ;
one of which was a few years since reproduced for his, in
the Colman Correspondence. A death-bed scene by the
same busy scribe (in which the dying man was made to
rave of his poor bleeding country, and of her true friend
Mr. Pitt, and of Scotchmen preying upon her vitals, and
of dying the death of the righteous), was also served up
to edify the public, and satisfy their inquiring interest.
. " Churchill the poet is dead," wrote Walpole to Mann on
the 15th of November. " The meteor blazed scarce four
*' years. He is dead, to the great joy of the Ministry and
" the Scotch, and to the grief of very few indeed, I be-
" Heve ; for such a friend is not only a dangerous but a
*' tickHsh possession."
There were friends who had not found him so. Lloyd
was sitting down to dinner when the intelligence was
brought to him. He was seized with a sudden sickness,
and thrust away his plate untouched. '* I shall follow
" poor Charles," was all he said, as he went to the bed
from which he never rose again. Churchill's favorite
sister, Patty, said to have had no small share of his spirit,
sense, and genius, and who was at this time betrothed to
Lloyd, sank next under the double blow, and, in a few
short weeks, joined her brother and her lover. The poet
had asked that none should mourn for him, and here were
two broken hearts ofiered up at his grave. Other silent
and bitter sorrows were also there.
Wilkes professed unassuageable ^rief, and sacred in-
tentions to fulfil the duty assigned him in the will. " I
The subject is again adverted to in " of poor Hubert and Churcbill.
another letter to his brother of eight "Upon recollection, I think, and
days later date, still from Paris : "am almost sure, that Churchill
*' I hope," he says, " you have re- " gave me his bond. I asked him
♦* ceived my key, and done what is " for nothing — he was in distress,
*' proper with regard to the two debts " and I assisted him."
Churchill.'] lamentations of wilkes. 327
" will do it to tlie test of my poor abilities. My
*' life shall be dedicated to it. I am better," lie ex-
claimed, a fortnight after the death, " but cannot get any
" continued sleep. The idea of Churchill is ever before
" my eyes." " Still I do not sleep," he wrote some
weeks later ; *' Churchill is still before my eyes." Other
expressions of his various letters run after the same fond
fashion. " I believe I shall never get quite over the late
" cruel blow." " Many a sigh and tear escape me for
" the death of dear Churchill." " You see how much I
" have at heart to show the world how I loved Churchill."
" I am adequate to every affliction but the death of
'' Churchill." " The loss of Churchill I shaU always
" reckon the most cruel of all afflictions I have suffered."
" I will soon convince mankind that I know how to value
" such superior genius and merit." '' I have half finished
" the projected edition of dear Churchill." " How
" pleased is the dear shade of our friend with all I have
" done ! " In truth the dear shade could hardly be dis-
pleased, for all he had done was 7iil. He wrote a few
paltry notes ; and they came to nothing. But, a year
after the sad scene at Boulogne, the Abbe Winckelman
gave him an antique sepulchral urn of alabaster, and he
placed on it a Latin inscription to his friend's memory ;
which he found himself sufficiently pleased mth, to
transfer afterwards to a Doric column in the grounds
of his Isle of Wight cottage, erected of materials as
fragile and as perishable as his patriotism. " Carolo
*' Churchill, amico jucundo, poetse acri, civi optime de
" patria merito, P. Johannes Wilkes, 1765." Horace
has used the word acer in speaking of himself.
Wilkes imperfectly understood its precise signification,
or did not rightly understand the genius of his
friend.
Meanwhile, in accordance with his own request, the
body of Churchill had been brought over from France,
and buried in the old churchyard which once belonged to
the collegiate church of St. Martin at Dover. There is
now a tablet to his memory in the church, and, over the
place of burial, a stone inscribed with his name and age,
the date of his death, and a line taken from that most
manly and unaffected passage of his poetry, in which,
328 A VISITOR AT A GRAVE. {ChurcliHL
without sorrow or complaining, lie anticipates this humble
grave.
'* Let all (nor shall resentment flush my cheek)
Who know me well, what they know, freely speak,
So those (the greatest curse I meet beloAv)
Who know me not, may not pretend to know.
Let none of those, whom, bless'd with parts above
My feeble genius, still I dare to love,
Doing more mischief than a thousand foes,
Posthumous nonsense to the world expose,
And c all it mine, for mine though never known,
Or which, if mine, I living blush'd to own.
Know all the w^orld, no greedy heir shall find.
Die when I will, one couplet left behind.
Let none of those, whom I despise though great,
Pretending friendship to give malice weight.
Publish my Life. Let no false sneaking Peer
(Some such there are) to win the public ear.
Hand me to shame with some vile anecdote.
Nor soul-galFd Bishop damn me with a note.
Let one poor sprig of Bay around my head
Bloom whilst I live, and point me out when dead ;
Let It (may Heaven, indulgent, grant that prayer !)
Be planted on my grave, nor wither there ;
And when, on travel bound, some rhyming guest
Eoams through the churchyard whilst his dinner 's drest,
Let It hold up this comment to his eyes
Life to the last enjoy' d. Here Churchill lies ;
Whilst (0, what joy that pleasing flattery gives !)
Heading my Works, he cries. Here Churchill lives."
On " travel bound/* a " rhjining guest " stood at the
grave in the Dover churchyard, fifty years after this pa-
thetic aspiration. He also had lived in defiance of the
world's opinions, had written the most masterly satires,
and had achieved a popularity unattained by any English
poet since the grave at which he stood received its inha-
bitant; Hke him, too, he was then leaving his native
country in early manhood, to be brought back dead ; and
the moral to which he shaped his thoughts was on " the
*' Glory and the Nothing of a Name.'' But a name is
not an illusion, when it has been won by any strenuous
exertion either of thought or action in an honest pur-
pose. Time's purgatorial fire may weaken the strength
of the characters it is written in, but it eats out of them
also their mistakes and vices; and Byron might have
had greater hope for the living, and less pity for the dead,
at the grave of Charles Churchill.
SAMUEL FOOTE.'
1720—1777.
Les Excentriques et les Humoristes Anglais au Dixhuitiime SQcle. Par
M. Philae^te Chasles. Paris. 1848.
The English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century. ByW. M.Thackeray.
London. 1853.
Satire and Satirists. By James Han nay. London. 1854.
Few things are in their nature so fleeting as a joker's
reputation. Within a generation it lives and dies. The
jest may survive, but the jester is forgotten, and it is wit
that flies unclaimed of any man ; or, more frequently,
jest and jester both have passed away, and darkness has
swallowed up the fireworks altogether. And this perhaps
is better than to outlive liking, even in so trumpery a
matter as a broad-grin. Horace Walpole has told us how
much Lord Leicester sufl'ered who had such a run in
George I's reign, when, ha^ang retired for a few years, he
returned to io\Yn with a new generation, recommenced
his old routine, and was taken for a driveller ; Swift had
to remind Lord Chesterfield that Bussy Rabutin himself,
when he was recalled to court after his long banishment,
appeared ridiculous there ; and one would not choose to
have been that universally popular wit of the reign of
Charles I, who, according to Sir William Temple, was
found to be an intolerable bore at the court of Charles II.
But it is not simply that this kind of reputation has
small value or duration in itself, but that it lowers any
higher claim in its possessor. Laughter runs a losing
^ From the Quarterly Review, September, 1854. With additions.
830 wit's disadvantages. [Samuel
race against the decencies and decorums ; and even Swift,
when he would have taken his proper place on the top-
most round of the ladder, was tripped up by the Tale of
a Tub. So much the weaker his chances, whose laughter
has dealt with what partakes itself of the transitory ; who
has turned it against the accidents and follies of life ;
w^ho has connected it with the obtrusive peculiarities of
character, as much as with its substance and realities ;
and who must therefore look to be himself not always
fairly associated with the trivialities he has singled out
for scorn. In life, and in books, it is the same. It is
wonderful how seldom men of great social repute have
been permitted to enjoy any other ; and there is written
wisdom of old date to this day unappreciated, because of
the laughing and light exterior it presents to us. In an
age which may not unjustly be characterised as one of
little wit and perpetual joking, this is a fault which has
not much chance of remedy.
Of the three books whose title-pages are transcribed at
the head of this essay, the reader may candidly be told
that it is not our intention to say anything. What we
are going to write is suggested by what we have not found
in them. In the first, an ingenious Frenchman, and noted
Anglo-maniac, reveals the discoveries he has made of
eccentric Englishmen, from Swift to Charles Lamb. In
the second, a contemporary English wit and humourist,
himself of no small distinction, eloquently discourses of
his illustrious predecessors from Addison to Goldsmith,
and passes upon them some hasty and many subtle
sentences. In the third, a most deserving writer, whose
capacity and knowledge would be not less relished if a
little less familiar and self-satisfied in tone, takes in hand
the whole subject of Satire and Satirists, dismisses Q.
Horatius Flaccus with the same easy decision as Mr.
Punch, and is as much at home with Juvenal and Greorge
Buchanan as with Thomas Moore and Theodore Hook.
Yet, in these three successive volumes-full of English
heroes of eccentricity, humour, and satire, there is One
name altogether omitted, which might have stood as the
type of all ; being that of an Englishman as eccentric,
humorous, and satirical, as any this nation has bred. To
the absent figure in the procession, therefore, we are
F00te.~\ A GREAT REPUTATION PASSED AWAY. 331
about to turn aside to offer tribute. "We propose to speak
of tbat forgotten name ; and to show its claims to have
been remembered, even though it now be little more than
a name.
It was once both a terrible and a delightful reality. It
expressed a bitterness of sarcasm and ridicule unexampled
in England ; and a vivacity, intelligence, and gaiety, a
ready and unfailing humour, to which a parallel could
scarcely be found among the choicest wits of France. It
was the name of a man so popular and diffused, that it
would be difficult to say to what class of his countrymen
he gave the greatest amount of amusement ; it was -the
name of a man also more dreaded, than any since his who
laid the princes of Europe under terror-stricken contri-
bution, and to whom the Great Turk himself offered hush-
money. " Mr. Foote was a man of wonderful abilities,"
says Grarrick, *' and the most entertaining companion I
" have ever known." " There is hardly a public man in
" England," says Davies, " who has not entered Mr.
" Foote's theatre with an aching heart, under the appre-
" hension of seeing himself laughed at." " Sure if ever
" one person," says Tate Wilkinson, " possessed the
" talents of pleasing more than another, Mr. Foote was
" the man." " Upon my word," writes Horace Walpole,
" if Mr. Foote be not check' d, we shall have the army
*' itself, on its return from Boston, besieged in the Hay-
" market." Such and so various were the emotions once
inspired by him who has now lost command alike over
our fears and our enjoyments ; and whose name is not
thought even worthy of mention, by lecturers aiming to
be popular, among the Humourists and Satirists of the
eighteenth century.
We have hinted at one reason for such forgetfulness,
but that is not all. He who merely shoots a folly as it
flies, may have no right to outlive the folly he lays low ;
but Foote's aim was not so limited. He proposed to
instruct, as well as to amuse, his countrymen ; he wrote
what he believed to be comedies, as well as what he knew
to be farces ; he laughed freely at what he thought
ridiculous in others, but he aspired also to produce what
should be admirable and enduring of his own. '' My
" scenes," he said on one occasion, " have been collected
333 PERSONAL AND GENERAL SATIRE. [SamUel
" from general nature, and are applicable to none but
" those who, through consciousness, are compelled to a
" self-application. To that mark, if Comedy directs not
" her aim, her arrows are shot in the air ; for by what
" touches no man, no man will be amended." This plea
has not been admitted, however. Whenever Foote is now
named, it is as a satirist of peculiarities, not as an observer
of character ; it is as a writer whose reputation has
perished, with the personalities that alone gave it zest ; it
is as a comedian who so exclusively addressed himself to
the audience of his theatre, that posterity has been obliged
to decline having any business or concern with him.
Smarting from some ridicule poured out at his dinner-
table, Boswell complained to Johnson that the host had
made fools of his guests, and was met by a sarcasm bitter
as Foote's own. " Why, Sir, when you go to see Foote,
" you do not go to see a saint ; you go to see a man who
" will be entertained at your house, and then bring you
" on a public stage ; who will entertain you at his house,
" for the very purpose of bringing you on a public stage.
** Sir, he does not make fools of his company ; they whom
" he exposes are fools already ; he only brings them into
" action." The same opinion he expressed more gravely
in another conversation, when, admitting Foote's humour,
and his singular talent for exhibiting character, he qualified
it not as a talent but a vice, such as other men abstain
from ;^ and described it to be not comedy, which exhibits
the character of a species, but farce, which exhibits
individuals. Be this hasty or deliberate, false or true, the
imputation conveyed by it follows Foote still, and gathers
bulk as it rolls. When Sir Walter Scott speaks of him,
it is as an unprincipled satirist, who, while he affected to
be the terror of vice and folly, was only anxious to extort
forbearance-money from the timid, or to fill his theatre at
the indiscriminate expense of friends and enemies, virtuous
or vicious, who presented foibles capable of being turned
^ Yet even Johnson could admit to Boswell, who had named a miserly
that there were cases where he acquaintance of theirs as a capital
would have relaxed his own rule, subject for Foote. "I, who have
and rejoiced to see administered, " eaten his bread, will not give him
even upon individuals, the lash *' to him, but I should be glad he
which Foote wielded with such effect. *' came honestly by him."
-** Sir, I wish he had him," he said
F00te,'\ LIMITS OF WIT AXD RIDICULE. 333
into ridicule. "When Mr. Macaulay speaks of Mm, it is
as a man whose mimickry was exquisitely ludicrous, but
all caricature ; and who could take off only some strange
peculiarity, a stammer or a lisp, a Northumbrian burr or
an Irish brogue, a stoop or a shuffle. If we had absolute
faith in any of these judgments, this essay would not have
been attempted.
A careful examination of Foote's writings has satisfied
us that they are not unworthy of a very high place in
literature, though not perhaps in all respects the place he
would have claimed; and it is worth remark, that, in
defending them, he has himself anticipated Mr. Macaulay 's
illustration. He declines to introduce upon the scene a
lady from the north, mth the true Newcastle burr in her
throat ; he recognises no subject for ridicule in the acci-
dental unhappiness of a national brogue, for which a man
is no more to be held accountable than for the colour of
his hair : but he sees the true object and occasion for
satire where all true satirists have found it, namely, in aU
kinds of affectation or pretence ; in whatever assumes to be
what it is not, or strives to be what it cannot become.
That he did not uniformly remember this, is with regret
to be admitted, seeing the effect it has had upon his re-
putation ; but it is not in his writings that his most
marked deviations from it are discoverable. For, it is not
because real characters are there occasionally introduced,
that the verdict is at once to pass against him. Vanbrugh's
Miss Jenny, was a certain Derbyshire Miss Lowe ;
Gibber's Lady Grace, was Lady Betty Cecil ; Farquhar's
Justice Balance, was a well-known Mr. Beverley ; and
MoHere, who struck the fashions and humours of his age
into forms that are immortal, has perpetuated with them
the vices and foibles of many a living contemporary. In
all these cases, the question still remains whether the in-
dividual folly or vice, obtruding itself on the public, may
not so far represent a general defect, as to justify public
satire for the sake of the warning it more widely conveys.
It will not do to confine ridicule exclusively to folly and
vice, and to refrain, in case of need, from laying its lash
on the knave and the fool. But such reasonable oppor-
tunities are extremely rare ; and it even more rarely
happens that what is thus strictly personal in satire, does
334 TEMPTATIONS OF AN ACTOR. \_Samuel
not also involve individual injustice and wrong. It is,
beyond doubt, no small ground for distrust of its virtues,
that the public should be always so eager to welcome it.
No one has expressed this more happily than Foote him-
self, when, levelling his blow at Churchill, he makes his
publisher Mr. Puff object to a poem full of praise :
*' Why, who the devil will give money to be told that Mr, Such-a-
" one is a wiser or better man than himself? No, no ; 'tis quite and
*' clean out of nature. A good sousing satire, now, well-powdered with
" personal pepper, and seasoned with the spirit of party, that demo-
*' lishes a conspicuous character, and sinks him below our own level
" — there, there, we are pleased ; there we chuckle and grin, and toss
" the half-crown on the counter."
, Unhappily this was his own case not less ; for he, too,
had to provide pleasure for those who went to chuckle,
and grin, and toss their half-crowns at the pay-place of
the Haymarket. And it was in serving up the dish for
this purpose, rather than in first preparing it ; it was in
the powdering and peppering for the table, rather than in
the composition and cooking ; in a word, it was less by
the deliberate intention of the writer than by the ready
mimickry and humorous impromptu of the actor, that
Foote gave mortal offence to so many of his countrymen,
did irreparable wrong very often to the least offending,
began himself to pay the penalty in suffering before
he died, and is paying the penalty still in character and
fame.
It is this which explains any difference to be noted
between the claims put forth by himself, and the verdict
recorded by his contemporaries. The writings we shall
shortly introduce to the reader would little avail, in them-
selves, to account for the mixed emotions they inspired.
That which gave them terror, has of course long departed
from them ; but, by reviving so much of it as description
may tamely exhibit, and by connecting with Foote's
personal career some idea of the overflowing abundance
and extravagance of his humour, it is possible that their
laughter and wit may win back some part of the apprecia-
tion they have lost, and a fair explanation be supplied
not only of the genius of this remarkable man, and of the
peculiar influence he exerted while he lived, but of the
F00te.'\ READINESS OF HUMOUR. 335
causes wliicli have intercepted his due possession and
ungrudged enjoyment of the
" Estate that wits inherit after death."
The strength and predominance of Footers humour lay
in its readiness. Whatever the call that might be made
upon it, there it was. Other men were humorous as the
occasion arose to them, hut to him the occasion was never
wanting. Others might he foiled or disabled by the lucky
stroke of an adversary, but he took only the quicker rebound
from what would have laid them prostrate. To put him
out, or place him at a disadvantage, was not possible.
He was taken one day into White's Club, by a friend
who wanted to write a note. Standing in a room among
strangers, and men he had no agreement with in politics,
he appeared to feel not quite at ease : when Lord Car-
marthen, wishing to relieve his embarrassment, went
up to speak to him; but, himself feeling rather shy,
merely said, " Mr. Foote, your handkerchief is hanging
" out of your pocket." Whereupon Foote, looking round
suspiciously, and hurriedly thrusting the handkerchief
back into his pocket, replied, '' Thank you, my Lord,
" thank you; you know the company better than I do." —
At one of Macklin's absurd Lectures on the Ancients, the
lecturer was solemnly composing himself to begin when
a buz of laughter from where Foote stood ran through
the room, and Macklin, thinking to throw the laugher
off his guard, and effectually for that night disarm his
ridicule, turned to him with this question, in his most
severe and pompous manner. " Well, Sir, you seem to
" be very merry there, but do you know what I am going
" to say, now?" "No, Sir," at once replied Foote ; "^r^y,
" do \jouV — One night at his friend Delaval's, when the
glass had been circulating freely, one of the party would
suddenly have fixed a quarrel upon him for his indulgence
of personal satire. "Why, what would you have?"
exclaimed Foote, good-humouredly putting it aside ; " of
" course I take all my friends off, but I use them no worse
" than myself, I take myself off." " Gadso ! " cried the
malcontent, " that I should like to see ; " upon which
Foote took up his hat and left the room.
336 JOKES WORTH REMEMBERING. \_Samuel
No one could so promptly overthrow an assailant ; so
quietly rebuke an avarice or meanness ; so effectually
" abate and dissolve " any ignorant affectation or preten-
sion. " Why do you attack my weakest part?^' he asked
of one who had raised a laugh against what Johnson calls
his depecUtation ; " did I ever say anything about your
" head?" — Dining when in Paris with Lord Stormont,
that thrifty Scotch peer, then ambassador, as usual pro-
duced his wine in the smallest of decanters and dispensed
it in the smallest of glasses, enlarging all the time on its
exquisite growth and enormous age. " It is very little of
'* its age," said Foote, holding up his diminutive glass. —
A pompous person who had made a large fortune as a
builder, was holding forth on the mutability of the world.
" Can you account for it. Sir?" said he, turning to Foote.
" Why, not very clearly. Sir," said Foote ; " unless we
" could suppose the world was built by contract." — A
stately and silly country squire was regaling a large party
with the number of fashionable folk he had visited that
morning. "And among the rest," he said, "I called
" upon my good friend the Karl of Chol-mon-dely, but
" he was not at home." " That is exceedingly surpris-
" ing," said Foote. " What ! nor none of his pe-o-ple?"
— Being in company where Hugh Kelly was mightily
boasting of the power he had, as a reviewer, of distribut-
ing literary reputation to any extent, " Don't be too
" prodigal of it," Foote quietly interposed, " or you may
" leave none for yourself." — Conversation turning one
day on a lady having married very happily, whose pre-
vious life had been of extremely doubtful complexion,
some one attributed the unexpected result to her having
frankly told her husband, before marriage, all that had
happened. " What candour she must have had ! " was
the general remark upon this. " What honesty ! "
" Yes," said Foote, " and what an amazing memory ! "
—The then Duke of Cumberland (the foolish Duke, as he
was called) came one night into the green-room at the
Haymarket Theatre. " Well, Foote," said he, " here I
" am, ready, as usual, to swallow all your good things."
" Really," replied Foote, " your royal highness must have
" an excellent digestion, for you never bring any up
" again." — " Why are you for ever humming that air ? "
F00te.'\ WHIMSICAL SAYINGS. 837
lie asked a man without a sense of tune in him. " Be-
" cause it haunts me." "No wonder," saidFoote: "you
" are for ever murdering it." — A well beneficed old
Cornish parson was holding forth at the dinner-table upon
the surprising profits of his living, much to the weariness
of everyone present, when, happening to stretch over the
table hands remarkable for their dirt, Foote struck in
with, " Well, Doctor, I for one am not at all surprised at
" your profits, for I see you keep the glebe in your o^vn
" hands." — One of Mrs. Montagu's blue-stocking ladies
fastened upon him at one of the routs in Portman- square
with her views of Locke on the Understanding, which she
protested she admired above all things ; only there was
one particular word very often repeated which she could
not distinctly make out, and that was the word (pro-
nouncing it very long) " ide-a ; but I suppose it comes
" from a Greek derivation." " You are perfectly right,
" Madam," said Foote ; "it comes from the word idea-
" owski.'^ " And pray, Sir, what does that mean ? "
" The feminine of idiot. Madam." — Much bored by a
pompous physician at Bath, who confided to him as a
great secret that he had a mind to publish his own poems,
but had so many irons in the fire he reaUy did not well
know what to do. " Take my advice. Doctor," says
Foote, " and put your poems where your irons are." —
Not less distressed on another occasion by a mercantile
man of his acquaintance, who had also not only written
a poem, but exacted a promise that he would listen to it,
and who mercilessly stopped to tax him with inattention
even before advancing beyond the first pompous Hne,
" Hear me, 0 Phcehus, and ye Muses nine I pray, pray be
" attentive, Mr. Foote." " I am," said Foote ; " nine
" and one are ten : go on ! "
The only men of his day, putting aside Johnson's later
fame, who had the least pretension to compare with him
in social repute, were Quin for mt and Garrick for powers
of conversation. But Quin was restricted to particular
walks of humour ; and his jokes, though among the most
masterly in the language, had undoubtedly a certain
strong, morose, surly vein, like the characters he was so
great in. Foote's range, on the other hand, was as uni-
versal as society and scholarship could make it ; and
838 QUiN, rooTE, and garrick. \_Samuel
Davies, who was no great friend of his, says it would
have been much more unfashionable not to have laughed
at Foote's jokes, than even at Quin's. Garrick again,
though notliing could be more delightful than the gaiety
of his talk, had yet to struggle always with a certain
restless misgiving, which made him the sport of men
who were much his inferiors. Johnson puts the matter
kindly.
* ' Gan-ick, Sir, has some delicacy of feeling ; it is possible to put
"him out ; you may get the better of him : but Foote is the most
' ' incompressible fellow that I ever knew ; when you have driven him
' ' into a corner, and think you are sure of him, he runs through
" between your legs, or jumps over your head, and makes his escape."
Could familiar language describe Falstaff better than
this, which hits off the character of Foote's humour
exactly ? It was incompressible. No matter what the
truth of any subject might be, or however strong the
position of any adversary, he managed to get the laugh
on his own side. It was not merely a quickness of fancy,
a brilliance of witty resource, a ready and expert audacity
of invention ; but that there was a fulness and in\'inci-
bility of courage in the man, call it moral or immoral,
which unfailingly warded off humiliation. In another
form, the same remark was made on another occasion by
Johnson, when some one in his company insisted that
Foote was a mere buffoon and merry- andrew, and the
conscientious Samuel interposed of his less conscientious
namesake :
" But he has wit, too, and is not deficient in ideas, or in fertility
" and variety of imagery, and not empty of reading ; he has know-
pledge enough to fill up his part. One species of wit he has in an
' ' eminent degree, that of escape. You drive him into a corner with
"both hands; but he's gone, Sir, when you think you have got
"him — like an animal that jumps over your head. Then he has a
' ' great range for wit ; he never lets truth stand between him and a
"jest, and he is sometimes mighty coarse."
A position of greater temptation is hardly conceivable
than that of a man gifted with such powers, and free from
such restraints ; and the outline we now propose to give
of his career will best show, on the one hand, to what
extent he was able to resist the temptation, and, on the
other, to what extent he fell. Johnson admits, while
FoOte.^ A DANGEROUS INDULGENCE. 339
certainly he underrates, his scholarship ; and detects,
though he exaggerates, his chief moral defect ; but he also
asserts, what the testimony in contradiction of too many
witnesses forbids us to believe, that he was not a good
mimic. He seems on the contrary to have carried
mimickry much higher than its ordinary strain, by com-
bining with it a comic genius and invention peculiar to
himself. It is seldom that a mere mimic is so extraor-
dinarily endowed. This gave him the range of character
as well as of manners, in the perception and appropria-
tion of what was ludicrous ; and it put a surprising
vitality into his satire.
It was at the same time that dangerous facility and force
of imitation, which, in connexion with the exuberance
of his humour, most limited his power of resisting its
indulgence. None better than himself knew the dis-
advantage, in a moral sense, at which it often placed him,
compared with duller men ; and there is affecting signifi-
cance in his remark to young O'Keefe, *' Take care of
" your wit," he said ; " bottle up your wit." In the
sketch we are about to. attempt, not a few indications will
appear that Foote, often as he subjected himself to the
charge of cruelty and inhumanity, had certainly not a
mahgnant disposition. But in his case we shall do well
to remember what Halifax said of Bishop Burnet, that
our nature scarcely allows us to be well supplied with
anything, without our having too much of it ; and that it
is hard for a vessel which is brimful, when in motion not to
run over. The habit of jesting and contempt, and of
looking always at the ludicrous and sarcastic side, got the
mastery over Foote. It became a tyranny from which
there was no escape ; and its practice was far more fre-
quent, and its application more wide, than even such
potency of humour as his could justify, or render other
than hurtful and degrading to his own nature.
Perhaps the most startling introduction upon record to
a club of wits, is that for which Foote, when a youth of
one- and- twenty, had to thank the Mr. Cooke who trans-
lated Hesiod. " This," said Mr. Cooke, presenting his
protege, " is the nephew of the gentleman who was lately
" hung in chains for murdering his brother." Startling
as the statement was, however, it was quite true ; and it
z 2
340
BIRTH AND PARENTAGE.
[^Samuel
is probable that Mr. Cooke, who had an ingenious turn
for living in idleness by his wits, and was reported to have
subsisted for twenty years on a translation of Plautus
for which he was always taking subscriptions, thought of
nothing in making it but his young friend's luck and
advantage, in having come to a considerable fortune by
such windfalls as a murder and an execution. Such was
actually the case ; and the eccentric translator was now
helping him to spend this fortune, by making him known
at his favourite club.
Samuel Foote, born at Truro in 1720, came of what in
courtesy must be called a good family, notwithstanding
the alarming fact just mentioned. His father had some
time sat in Parliament as member for Tiverton ; and in
1720 was an active Cornish magistrate and influential
country gentleman, receiver of fines for the duchy, and a
joint commissioner of the Prize-office. His mother ^ was
^ She survived till she was 84.
She lived to see the triumphs of her
son, and was spared the knowledge
of his suffering. She died shortly
before the affair of the Duchess of
Kingston, when Foote, as will be
seen hereafter, defended her memory
with affection and spirit. When she
was 79 years old, Cooke dined with
her in company with her grand-
daughter, at a barrister's in Gray's
Inn ; and, though she had sixty steps
to ascend to the drawing-room, she
did it without the help of a cane, and
with the activity of a woman of forty.
Her talk, too, surprised every one.
It was witty, humorous, and con-
vivial, and made her the heroine of
the party. She had the figure and
face of her son, with the same con-
tinual mirth and good humour in
the eye.
It may be worth adding, that, in
the famous reply to the Duchess of
Kingston just referred to (and which
will be found printed at length in a
later note), Foote gives a curious
proof of the haste with which he
must have read, and read only once,
the savage assault he was answei*ing.
The truth is that the Duchess threw
out no imputation against his mother,
beyond the preposterous assertion
that she was the daughter of a merry-
andrew who exhibited at Totness.
The passage runs thus : * ' To a man,
" my sex alone would have screened
' * me from attack — but I am writing
** to the descendant of a merry-
" andrew and prostitute the term of
*' manhood by appl^'ing it to Mr.
'* Foote." To which Foote, catching
simply the connexion without the
sense of the words (unless we are to
assume that he made the mistake
deliberately for the sake of the op-
portunity it gave him), made reply :
*' The progenitors your Grace has
*' done me the honour to give me,
'* are, I presume, merely metaphysi-
** cal persons, and to be considered
* ' as the aijthors of my muse, and not
** my manhood : a merry-andrew
** and a prostitute are no bad poeti-
'* cal parents, especially for a writer
"of plays; the first to give the
" humour and mirth, the last to
" furnish the graces and power of
"attraction . . If you mean that I
** really owe my birth to that pleasant
*' connection, your Grace is grossly
* * deceived. My father was, in
F00te.'\ SCHOOL AND COLLEGE. 341
the daughter of a baronet, Sir Edward Goodere, who
represented the county of Hereford for many years ; and
who, by marriage with the granddaughter of the Earl of
Rutland, had connected with his own family the not less
ancient stock of the Dineleys, of Charlton in Wor-
cestershire. This connexion placed young Sam in the
collegiate school at Worcester, from which, as founder's
kin, he was in his seventeenth year elected scholar of
Worcester-college in Oxford. Being a quick clever lad,
he was a favourite with the master, Dr. Miles, and already
report had gone abroad of an astonishing faculty of
humour in him. His schoolfellows putting him first in
all pranks against authority, he had become supreme in
barrings-out, artificial earthquakes, and other strokes of
juvenile wit ; but what thus early drew more attention to
him, was his mimickry of grown-up people, his unusual
talent for making fun of his elders and superiors. Arthur
Murphy, on whom Johnson so repeatedly urged the duty
of writing some account of him that he began to collect
materials for it, found upon inquiry a tradition remaining
in the school that the boys often suffered on a Monday
for preferring Sam's laughter to their lessons ; for, when-
ever he had dined on the Sunday with any of his relatives,
his jokes and imitations next day at the expense of the
family entertaining him had all the fascination of a stage
" truth, a very useful magistrate " The second, (Samuel Foote's
"and respectable country gentle- ** father) married the only daughter
*' man, as the whole county of Corn- "of Sir Thomas Dinely Goodier,
** wall will tell you. My mother, " Bart.
" &c. &c." The entire correspond- "The eldest daughter married
ence is printed by Cooke, vol. i. p. " Harris of Hayne, in the parish of
200-210. " Stowford, the living of which is
I subjoin an extract of a letter from "held at present by our cousin
Miss Mary Harness to Dr. Harness, " Samuel Harness,
dated Truro, Sept. 19, 1797, with " The second married Nicholls of
which I have been favoured by my * ' Trewe, father of Dr. Nicholls,
friend the Rev. William Harness, ' * whom you may remember Profes-
and which shows Foote's connexion " sor of Anatomy in the University
with some ofthe old West of England " of Oxford.
families. " Our great grandmother " The third married Willyams of
" Foote was a Miss Stephens of " Truro.
" Truro. She had eight children, " The fourth, Pendarvis of Pen-
" two sons and six daughters. " darvis.
"The eldest son married Miss " The fifth, Thomas of Tregols.
** Gregor, great aunt to the present " The sixth, our grandfather."
** member for Cornwall.
342 EAELY MIMICKRY. [SamUCl
play. Murphy adds his hehef that he acted Punch in
disguise during his student career at Oxford.
He certainly acted, without disguise, many kinds of
extravagance there, of which the principal drift was to
turn the laugh, when he could, against the provost of his
college ; with of course the unavoidable result of penalties
and impositions, which became themselves but the occa-
sion afterwards for a new and broader laugh. Provost
Gower was a pedant of the most uncompromising school,
and Foote would present himself to receive his reprimand
with great apparent gravity and submission, but with a
large dictionary under his arm; when, on the Doctor
beginning in his usual pompous manner with a surpris-
ingly long word, he would immediately interrupt him,
and, after begging pardon with great formality, would
produce his dictionary, and pretending to iind the mean-
ing of the word would say " Very well, sir ; now please
" to go on." It is clear, however, that under no extent
of laxity of discipline could this be expected to go on ;
and accordingly we find him, in the third year of his
under-graduateship, after an interval of gaiety at Bath,
flaming suddenly through Oxford in society not very
worshipful, attended by two footmen, and with a ridicu-
lous quantity of lace about his clothes ; taken to task more
gravely than usual for so marked an indecorum ; and
quitting college in consequence, in 1740, " but without
" any public censure."
That he quitted it, in spite of all these follies, with a
very respectable amount of scholarship, there can be no
question ; and this he now carried up to London, enter-
ing himself of the Temple. It had been settled that the
law was to be. the making of his fortune, ever since a
scene of mimickry at his father's dinner-table some four
years before this date, long remembered and related by
his mother, when he had taken measure of the judicial
wit of no less than three justices of quorum in an imagi-
nary afiiliation case. He contrasted, with great fun, the
irascible bad EngHsh of Justice D, with the mild placidity
of Justice A's slips of grammar, and he wound up with a
picture of Justice F (his father) having something to say
on both sides, like Sir Roger de Coverley, which he repro-
duced with such infinite humour of resemblance, even to
Foote.'^ A STARTLING TRAGEDY. 343
the accompaniment of a twirling of his father's magis-
terial thumbs, that everybody present was in ecstacy.
Nevertheless it did not prefigure the w^oolsack ; all that
ensued to him from a nearer acquaintance with the law,
being greater facilities for laughing at it. But it is
difficult to say w^hat effect the tragedy of his uncles may
have had on the outset of his studies. Hardly had he
begun residence in the Temple, w^hen this frightful
catastrophe became the talk of the town.
A family quarrel of long standing existed between
these tw^o brothers of Mrs. Foote (8ir John Dineley
Goodere, and Capt. Samuel Goodere, RN), and it had
very recently assumed a character of such bitterness, that
the baronet, who was unmarried and somewhat eccentric
in his ways, had cut off the entail of the family estate in
favour of his sister's issue, to the exclusion of the Captain,
who nevertheless had seized the occasion of an unexpected
visit of his brother to Bristol, in the winter of 1741, some-
what ostentatiously to seek a reconciliation with him ;
having previously arranged that on the very night of
their friendly meeting a pressgang, partly selected from
his own ship, the Ruby man-of-war, and partly from tlie
Yernon privateer, both lying at the time in the King's-
road, should seize and hurry Sir John into a boat on the
river, and thence secrete him in the purser's cabin of the
Euby. The whole thing was wonderfully devised to
assume the character of one of the outrages far from
uncommon in seaports in those days ; but as usual the
artifice was overdone. The Captain's publicly- acted re-
conciliation directed suspicion against him ; even among
the savage instruments of his dreadful deed, some sparks
of feeling and conscience were struck out ; and one man,
who saw through a crevice in the woodwork of the cabin
two of the worst ruffians in the ship strangle the poor
struggling victim, swore also, in confirmation of the evi»
dence of others who had witnessed their commander's
watch outside the door at the supposed time of the
murder and his subsequent sudden disappearance inside,
that, in about a minute after the deed was done, he saw
an arm stretched out, aiid a ichite hand on the throat of
the deceased.
Captain Goodere would have defended liimself by the
844 THE GRECIAN AND THE BEDFORD. \_SamUel
plea that lie had no part in the murder, and that his share
in the seizure of his brother was only to withdraw him
from improper influences until a settlement could be had
of the question whether or not his eccentricities should ho
held to render him incapable of disposing of his property ;
the friends of the murderer on the other hand would have
defended him on the plea, that the act, if he had indeed
committed it, was not that of a person in his senses. But,
as occasional eccentricities are no definition of perfect
madness, so neither can any murderer be considered so
perfectly sane as to be entitled to escape responsibility on
proof that he may sometimes have lost self-command.'
Captain Goodere, therefore, was duly and deservedly
hanged ; and a portion of the family inheritance came to
young Sam Foote ; and Mr. Hesiod Cooke took him to
his club, as already we have faithfully recorded.
Those were still great days for clubs and taverns. The
Grecian, in Devereux- court, continued to retain some
portion of the fame for Temple wit which made Steele
propose to date from it his learned papers in the Tatler,
and here was Foote's morning lounge ; while in the
evening he sought the Bedford in Covent-garden, which
had succeeded lately to the theatrical glories of Tom's
and Will's, and where, to be one of the knot of well-
dressed people that met there and modestly called them-
selves the world, was of course a natural object of youthful
aspiration. For the vicinity of the theatre was even yet
the head- quarters of wit ; and still the ingenious apoph-
thegm of Steele's passed current, that what the bank was
to the credit of the nation the playhouse was to its
politeness and good manners. Here accordingly breaks
upon us the first clear glimpse of our hero. A well-
known physician and theatrical critic of the day. Dr.
Barrowby, sketches him for us. One evening, he says,
he saw a young man extravagantly dressed out in a frock
suit of green and silver lace, bag- wig, sword, bouquet,
and point-ruifles, enter the room, and immediately join
^ This detestable doctrine, which tor Johnson. "He was," says Sir
will always have its advocates, nor John Hawkins, "a great enemy to
ever want the sapient sanction of " the present fashionable way of
British juiymen, was most oflFensive *' supposing worthless and infamous
to the manly and robust sense of Doc- ** persons mad."
FoOte.l^ FIRST FORTUNE SPENT. 345
the critical circle at the upper end. Nobody recognised
him ; but such was the ease of his bearing, and the point
and humour of remark with which he at once took part
in the conversation, that his presence seemed to dis-
concert no one ; and a sort of pleased buz of " Who is
" he?^' was still going round the room unanswered, w;hen
a handsome carriage stopped at the door, he rose and
quitted the room, and the servants announced that his
name was Foote, that he was a young gentleman of family
and fortune, a student of the Inner Temple, and that the
carriage had called for him on its way to the assembly of
a lady of fashion.
Any more definite notion of his pursuits within the
next two years we fail to get, but that he underwent some
startling vicissitudes is certain. There are traces of him
among other than ladies of fashion ; and the scandal
attaches to him of having driven a coach and six greys
into Oxford, accompanied as even Oxford, though any-
thing but strait-laced in those days, was fain to take
mighty offence at. For some months of the time he
appears to have rented Charlton-house, once the family
seat in Worcestershire ; and here there is a pleasant
story told of his having his former schoolmaster. Doctor
Miles, to dine with him amidst his magnificence, when
the unworldly old pedagogue, amazed at the splendour,
innocently asked his quondam pupil how much it might
cost, and got for answer that he did not then know how
much it might cost, but certainly should know how much
it would bring. And doubtless this anticipation came
very suddenly true : for an old schoolfellow told Murphy
that he remembered dining with him in the Fleet within
the same year, in company with a man named Waite,
confined there for a fraudulent debt to the bank ; when,
Waite having supplied the turbot, venison, and claret for
the feast, and young Foote the wit, humour, and jollity,
never did he pass so cheerful a day. Murphy adds the
surprising fact that his first essay as an author was
written at about this time, and that it was " a pamphlet
" giving an account of one of his uncles who was executed
" for murdering his other uncle."
We have made unavailing search for this pamphlet, any
account of which at second hand it is manifestly dangerous
846
TURNING FAMILY DISGRACE TO PROFIT.
[^Samuel
to take. But, by those who profess to have seen it, it is
represented to have been a quasi-defence of the justly-
hanged captain ; a sort of " putting the best face " on the
family discredit; though in what way this too-partial
nephew could possibly prove that the one uncle did not
deserve strangling publicly, without at the same time
making it clear that the other uncle c?^(i deserve strangling
privately, we are quite at a loss to comprehend. That he
wrote some such pamphlet, however, seems certain, urged
to it by hunger and the ten pounds of an Old Bailey book-
seller; the subject continuing to occupy all the gossips
and horror- mongers about town, the nephew being sup-
posed to know more of the '' rights of it '* than anybody
else, and the condition of the publication being the sup-
pression of his name as its writer.^ Such undoubtedly was
^ What purports to be a copy of
this pamphlet has since been sent to
me. It is the recent reprint of a
common and coarsely printed six-
penny tract, published in the locality
of the murder, consisting of an ab-
stract of the evidence with prefatory
comments on its tragical incidents,
such as one might expect to find com-
manding still its local sale on market
days, as the record and celebration of
one of the legitimate points of inte-
rest of the neighbourhood. It is said
on the title page to have been written
" by the late S. Foote, Esq," but
bears about it no other evidence of
his authorship, unless a cursory
allusion in the body of it to the wri-
ter's relationship to the two brothei's
may be accepted as such. If this,
however, be really the pamphlet
referred to in the text, the allusions
there made are not quite accurate,
for it certainly does not endeavour
to defend both brothers. It gives
up the captain ; and, thoiagh by no
means anxious to cloak the failings
of Sir John, shows an undisguised
leaning to him. Still, if it could be
shown to be genuine, it would be
perhaps the most amazing specimen
on record of nonchalance in treating
publicly of a topic that would surely
have been gall and wormwood to
most men whom it personally
touched. But it is extremely diflS-
cult to believe in the alleged author-
ship ; or that the very hastiest and
most negligent performance of such
a man as Foote, upon such a sub-
ject, could have been so utterly poor
and impotent as the tract I have
been describing.
[Nevertheless I have since satis-
fied myself of the identity of the
tract herein described with that
referred to in my text. Mr. .T. C.
Knight, of the British Museum, has
been so good as to bring under my
notice the original edition of it,
which decisively shows, not only
that Foote was the writer, but that
the publication and not the sup-
pression of his name had been the
condition imposed. Not merely is
the name given, but the writer's
precise relationship to the murderer
and his victim is proclaimed. I
transcribe the title page in full.
" The genuine Memoirs of the
" Life of Sir John Dinely Goodere,
"Bart, who was murder'd by the
" contrivance of his own brother,
' ' on board the Ruby Man of War
" in King's Road near Bristol, Jan.
"19, 1740. Together with the
** Life, history, tryal, and last
* ' dying words of his brother Capt.
F00te.'\ A DEFECTIVE WARDROBE. 347
the extremity of his need at the moment, that on the day
he took his manuscript to its very proper destination at
the Old Bailey, " he was," says Cooke, " actually ohliged
" to wear his boots without stockings, and on his receiv-
'' ing his ten pounds he stopped at a hosier's in Fleet-
" street to remedy that defect;" but hardly had he issued
from the shop, when two old Oxford associates, who had
arrived in London on a frolic, recognised him and bore
him off to a dinner at the Bedford ; where, as the glass
began to circulate, the state of his wardrobe came within
view, and he was asked what the deuce had become of his
stockings ? " Why," said Foote, quite unembarrassed,
" I never wear any at this time of the year, till I am going
" to dress for the evening ; and you see," pulling his pur-
chase out of his pocket, and silencing the laugh and the
suspicion of his friends, " I am always provided with a
" pair for the occasion."
This anecdote rests on the authority of Mr. William
Cooke, commonly called Conversation Cooke, who put
together, half a century since, for Sir Bichard Phillips's
book-mart, a memoir of Foote not without many points of
merit, though discrimination is not one of them ; and who,
with Murphy, fixes the date of the pamphlet at the period
when its author, " immersed in all the expensive follies
" of the times, had just outrun his first fortune." His
second fortune is supposed to have fallen to him on his
father's death ; but the dates and circumstances are not
at all clear, and Mr. Cooke further confuses them by the
statement that the worthy old magistrate, shortly before
he died, had sanctioned his son's marriage with a young
Worcestershire lady, and received them in Cornwall for
the honeymoon ; when, on their arrival one dreary January
night, a serenade was heard which no one next morning
could account for, and, the moment being carefully noted
by Foote, it turned out afterwards to be exactly that of
the consummation of the frightful tragedy at Bristol.
"Samuel Goodere, who was exe- "of Bristol. By S. Foote, of Wor-
*' cuted at Bristol on Wednesday " cester College, Oxford, Esq, and
" the 15th day of April 1741, for " Nephew to the late Sir John
" the horrid Murder of the said Sir " Dinely Goodere, Bart. London.
"John Dinely Goodere, Bart. " Printed and sold by T. Cooper in
" Dedicated to the Right Worship- "Paternoster Row. Price Six-
" ful Henry Combe, Esq, Mayor " pence." I860.]
348 SECOND FORTUNE SPENT. \_Samuel
" Foote always asserted tlie fact of this occurrence/^ says
Cooke, " with a most striking gravity of belief, tliough. he
" could by no means account for it." It may have been
so ; but the alleged marriage is equally difiicult to account
for, and would seem indeed to rest on no sufficient autho-
rity. No traces of any such settled connexion are dis-
coverable in Foote' s career. The two sons that were born
to him, were not born in wedlock ; and when the maturer
part of his life arrived, and the titled and wealthy crowded
to his table, his home had never any recognised mistress.
Indeed he used wittily to give as his laughing excuse for
bachelorhood, that you must count a lady's age as you do
a hand at picquet, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven,
twenty-eight, twenty-nine, sixty ; and he had no ambition
to awake one morning, and find himself matched so
unequally for the whole length of a life.
But confused as are some of the dates and details at
the outset of his career, the main particulars may be given
with reasonable confidence ; and the second fortune which
undoubtedly he inherited, he had as certainly spent before
he was twenty-four years old. The thing was then easily
to be done by a hand or two at hazard. In 1742 and '43
he topped the part of a fine gentleman upon town ; dress-
ing it to such perfection in morning and evening equip-
ment, and giving such a grace to his bag- wig and solitaire,
his sword, muft*, and rings, that he received the frequent
compliment of being taken for a foreigner. At the open-
ing of 1744, however, the scene had again changed with
him ; and if we look in at the Bedford, we shall find him
once more among the wits and critics there, with as much
sore necessity to live by his wits as they. And we may note
there also, as one other accession which its circle has just
received, a manly-looking youth of pleasant aspect, with
the same weakness for fine clothes as Foote himself, but
with something in his face and eyes that tells of other and
higher aspirations. It is poor Collins,' hardly twenty-
^ "When Mr. William Collins " his appearance was by no means
*' came from the university, he " that of a young man who had not
** called on his cousin Payne, gaily ** a single guinea he could call his
*' dressed, and with a feather in "own. . To raise a present subsis-
*' his hat ; at which his relation *' tence he set about writing his
"expressed surprize, and told him *'Odes. . . . when, pretending he
F00te,~\ AGAIN AMONG THE WITS. 349
one, bent upon earning a subsistence by writing Odes,
which one day he writes and the next he burns, fretting
out the best part of his brief sad life, and wasting in pro-
fitless vexations what might have made him one of the
greatest of English poets. In this second clearly dis-
cernible appearance of our hero. Doctor Barrowby re-
appears also ; and Foote for once has the laugh turned
somewhat against him. A remnant of his newly-wasted
fortune is clinging to him still in the shape of a gold
repeater, in those times something of a rarity, which he
ostentatiously parades with the surprised remark, " Why,
" my watch does not go ! " " It soon ^cill go," quietly
says Doctor Barrowby.
Since we last looked in at the Bedford, the theatres
have taken new importance, and the critics found fresh
employment, in a stage-success without parallel within
living recollection. When Foote went first to that coffee-
house, one of its habitues was a Kvely little man who
supplied it with " red port ; '' with whom he formed an
acquaintance ; whom he then described living in Durham-
yard with three quarts of ^anegar in the cellar, calling
himself a wine-merchant ; and whom he afterwards knew
living in the same locaKty, when Durham-yard had
become the Adelphi, and the little wine-merchant one of
the first men in England for princely wealth and popu-
** would alter them, he got them " the town, spending his time in all
"from me, and threw them into " the dissipation of Ranelagh, Vaux-
' ' the fire. He was an acceptable * ' hall, and the Playhouses ; and
' ' companion everywhere ; and ' ' was romantic enough to suppose
*' among the gentlemen who loved " that his superior abilities would
"him for a genius, I may reckon "draw the attention of the great
" the Doctors Armstrong, Barrow- " world, by means of whom he was
"by, and Hill, Messrs. Quin, " to make his fortune, . I met him
" Garrick, and Foote. . . He was " often, and remember he lodged
" particularly noticed by the " in a little house with a Miss
" geniuses who frequented the Bed- " Bundy, at the corner of King's-
" ford and Slaughter's Cotfee- " square-court, Soho, now a ware-
" houses." Letter of Mr. Ra^s- "house." Let me direct the reader
dale (July 1783) reprinted in the to an edition just published (18.58)
Monthly Magazine, vol. xxi. A of this most charming poet, ad-
writer, now known to have been mirably edited, and with an agree-
Gilbert White of Selborne, had able and interesting Memoir by Mr,
written a somewhat similar ac- Moy Thomas. It is among the new
count to the Gentleman^ s Mar/azine editions of the " Aldine Poets" at
for 1781. " Going to London from present in course of careful repro-
" Oxford, he commenced a man of duction by Messrs. Bell and Daldy,
350 JOINS MACKLiN AGAINST GAURicK. \Samuel
larity. The close of 1741 saw Garrick's triumpli at
Goodman's-fields ; and the two short years since, which
had squandered Foote's fortunes, had firmly established
Garrick's as the chief English actor and ornament of
Drury-lane. But what the pubHc so freely admitted,
there were still critics and actors to dispute. There is no
end, as Voltaire says, to the secret capacity for factions ;
and apart altogether from professional jealousy, when the
town has nothing .better to quarrel about, a success on the
stage will set everybody by the ears. Yery loud and
violent just now, therefore, were the factions at the
Bedford : and prominent was the part taken in them by
Foote, and by an Irish actor whom some strength of
intellect as well as many eccentricities distinguished from
his fellows ; already by his half- century of years (he was
born before the battle of the Boyne) entitled to be called
a veteran, and destined to live for more than half a
century longer ; but never at any time so generally suc-
cessful as his particular successes might have seemed to
warrant, and now not unnaturally impatient of such
complete and universal favour as little Garrick had sud-
denly leaped into. For the truth was, that Garrick's
re-introduction of the natural school had already been
attempted by this Irish actor, Charles MackKn : who,
undaunted by Mr. Eich's dismissal of him from the
Lincoln's-inn theatre twenty -years back, as far too fami-
liar, and wanting the grand hoity-toity vein, had never-
theless steadily persisted, and at last, eight months before
Garrick appeared, had got the town with him in Shylock ;
but there, unhappily, had been stopped by his hard voice
and his harsh face, the tones in the one like the strokes
of a hammer, the lines in the other like cordage. But,
for the time at least, heartily as he afterwards laughed at
him, Foote's sympathy went without stint to the dis-
appointed veteran ; and, together, they formed a strong
third party among the critics, standing between the foes
and friends of Garrick : maintaining that his familiarity
was right, but was not familiar enough, and that he
wanted the due amount of spirit and courage to take
tragedy completely off the stilts. Of this view Foote
became a startHng and powerful exponent. It suited his
sharp, shrewd style ; it drew forth his easy, sarcastic
F00te.'\ GOES UPON THE STAGE. ' 351
humour ; and, differing from Garrick only in degree, it
did not preclude Hs expression of what he honestly felt,
when it better pleased his own originality to admit that
of the great little actor. And his criticism, wdiich took
more of the wide range of the world than of the limited
one of books, showed one thing undoubtedly, that, reck-
less as this young spendthrift's career had been, his quick
natural talents had protected him against its most de-
grading influences. His practice of vice had not obscured
his discernment of it, nor his experience of folly made
his sense of it less keen ; and thus early he was a man of
influence in the society of the day, before he had written
his first farce, or even set foot upon the stage. Such
critical perception as that of his Treatise on the Passions,
and his Essays on Comedy* and Tragedy, could not but
make him formidable.
Meanwhile graver matters became importunate with
him, from which the only immediate relief seemed to He
in the direction at present most famiHar to him. He had
to replace the means his extravagance had wasted, and
the tendency of his habits and tastes pointed to the stage.
From telling shrewdly w^hat should be done, to showing
as naturally how to do it, the transition seems easy when
the necessity is great ; and Foote resolved to make the
trial. He consulted with his friends, prominent among
whom at this time were the well-known Delavals ; Francis,
afterwards the baronet, and his brother, Lord Delaval ; to
the former of whom, a few years later, he dedicated his first
published piece, to commemorate the " generous disinter-
^' ested friendship " of both brothers at the particular
crisis of his fortune which " enHsted him in the service of
" the pubKc." They happened to be great lovers of the
stage, and the help and co-operation of both confirmed
his resolution. The time also peculiarly favoured it : for
now occurred the dispute between the leading Drury-lane
actors and Fleetwood, which ended in the violent rupture
of Garrick and Macklin ; when, on the former unexpect-
^ His Roman and English, Hoadly's Suspicious Husband,
Comedy Compared, published in. which he welcomed as the best
1747, is still worth reading ; and comedy since the Provoked Hus-
among other things contained a hand, produced exactly twenty
spirited and generous notice of years before.
352 * oPExs IN OTHELLO. \_Samtiel
edly returning to his allegiance, the latter drew ojff with
the best company he could get together at the moment,
went to the little " wooden theatre " in the Haymarket,
and threw defiance at the patentees. The licensing-act
prevented his taking money at the doors, but the pubKc
were "admitted by tickets delivered by Mr. MackHn;'*
and, by advertising and beginning with a concert, he evaded
its other provisions. Foote joined the secession, and
selected Othello for his opening part.
It was the part that Farquhar tried, and failed in ; it
was his friend Arthur Murphy's part, when he failed ; it
was his friend Delaval's, on the occasion of a grand
private play at Lord Mexborough's, Delaval's brother-in-
law, which was afterwards repeated at Drury-lane; it
was his imitator Tate Wilkinson's part, it was Barry's, it
was Mossop's ; and, whether a man was to fail or to suc-
ceed, to plant himself on the heights of tragedy, to
occupy the lesser ground of comedy, or to fall through
altogether, Othello seemed still the first object of ap-
proach : though less perhaps as a main outwork of the
citadel, than as ofiering, in the coloured face, a means of
personal disguise often welcome to a debutant. Yet with
all this it appears surprising that Foote, with his keen
common sense and strong feeling for the ridiculous, should
have chosen it. But some degree of gravity and enthu-
siasm is inseparable from youth, and as the part, more-
over, was one that Garrick was held to have failed in, it
was a bow remaining still to bend. " Here is Pompey,"
cried a wit from among Garrick's audience, when the little
face-blackened man entered, in a regimental suit of King
George the Second's body-guard, with a flowing Ramilies
wig, " but where is the tea-tray ? " Foote shares Tsith
old Quin in the fame of this celebrated joke, which was
probably not without its effect in checking Garrick's re-
appearance in a part, the mere colour and costume of
which must have made such an object of him. The
matter of dress was a point, indeed, whereon Macklin
and Foote had taken special counsel. Ever since Mr.
Pope had nodded approval of his Shylock's red hat, and
said, " it was very laudable," Macklin had been a great
stickler for costume ; and the Haymarket bill, announcing
for the 6th February 1744 *'a concert, after which
F00te.'\ FAILS IN TRAGEDY AND TUIES COMEDY. 353
" Othello, Othello by a gentleman, being liis first appear-
" ance on any stage," was not less careful to announce
that ''the character of Othello \\dll be new dressed
" after the custom of his country."
But the flowing eastern robe could not hide the actor's
defects. Foote failed in Othello, there can be no doubt.
" Not but one could discover the scholar about the young
'' fellow," said Macklin, " and that he perfectly knew
" what the author meant; but" Nevertheless, on a
reference to the bills, we find that he repeated it three
times ; on the 13th, 20th, and 23rd of the same month ;
and that, on the 10th of the following month, he again
acted it for a benefit at Drury-lane, being there announced
as " the gentleman who lately perfonned it in the Hay-
" market." He took the same course exactly with the
next part he played, that of Lord Foppington ; in wliich
he is said to have been more successful, ha^dng had hints
from Gibber himself on which he whimsically improved-
Nor can it be doubted that in Comedy he so far at once
made his ground safe, that the public had always a
certain welcome for him in parts, which, though leading
ones, he seems to have chosen as not absolutely possessed
by more successful competitors ; and to which therefore,
with occasional sallies into such extraneous matter as
Shylock, he will be found upon the whole shrewdly to
restrict himself. In the ^\inter of 1744-45 he went over
to Dublin, and played with some success at the Smock-
alley theatre, then just opened by Thomas Sheridan, the
son of Swift's friend ; and in the mnter of 1745-46 he
was installed as one of the regular company at Drury-
lane. His venture so far had succeeded, and the course
of his future life was marked out.
No account has been kept of his performances in
Dublin ; for, though he is said to have drawn crowded
houses, his wit was more remembered than his acting, and
two of the jokes he made may therefore here be recorded
instead of the parts he played- Being reproached, on
praising the hospitality of Ireland, as but a half-qualified
witness, not having visited the capital of the south, he in-
sisted that he might claim to have as good as seen Cork,
he had seen so many drawings of it ; and, being asked
what impression was conveyed to him by the condition of
354 FIRST WINTER AT DRURY LANE. \_SamUel
the Irish peasantry, he declared that it had settled a ques-
tion which before had been a constant plague to him, and
he now knew what the English beggars did with their
cast-ofF clothes. The comedies he appeared in at Drury-
lane, the winter after his return, are in some degree evi-
dence not only of the character of his acceptance with the
public, but of what he felt, himself, in regard to his
powers. He played, four times. Sir Harry Wildair in
Farquhar's Constant Couple, with Peg Woffington, her-
self the once famous Sir Harry, for his Lady Lurewell.
He repeated Lord Foppington, in Yanbrugh's Relapse,
several times ; with Mrs. Woffington as Berinthia, and
Mrs. Clive as Miss Hoyden. He revived Addison's
comedy of the Drummer, which had not been presented
for some years, that he might himself perform Tinsel.
He played Sir Novelty Fashion, in Gibber's Love's Last
Shift. He played Sir Courtly Nice, in Crown e's comedy
of that name. He played the Younger Loveless, in
Beaumont and Fletcher's Scornful Lady, on the occasion
of Mrs. "Woffington selecting it for her benefit. He re-
peated, five or six times, the part of Dick in Yanbrugh's
Confederacy. And finally, he appeared in the Duke of
Buckingham's Rehearsal; and gave, to the general sur-
prise and delight of many audiences, and the particular
consternation of some individuals among them, his version
of the celebrated Bayes.
In this selected list, one cannot but recognise some-
thing of the personal wit and humorous peculiarity of the
man. As the town would not have him in characters
that would have carried him out of himself, he darted at
once into the other extreme of playing characters closely
resembling himself, and took his audiences into confidence
with his personal weaknesses and failings. What he now
played, he was or had been. He was the graceless son,
the adventurer with the handsome leg ; he was the fiimsy
fop and dandy, who had made a god of his tailor and
scorned essential for non-essential things ; he was the
very embodiment of the heedless light-hearted coxcomb,
the type of youthful spirits and recklessness let loose upon
the WQrld. But what a man is, he does not always look ;
and in such plays as these, it was Foote's disadvantage
that his appearance told against him. In person he was
F00te,~\ PORTRAIT BY REYNOLDS. 355
short, mth a tendency to stoutness ; liis face even in
youth was round, fleshy, and flat, and his nose had breadth,
without strength or deHcacy : though he had a pleasing
expression of mouth, more refined than in a man of his
temperament might perhaps have been looked for ; and
he had an eye in whose sparkling depths lay a spring of
humour unfailing and perpetual, which would have raised
from insignificance or repulsiveness features fifty times as
coarse or inelegant. In that dramatic gallery of the
Garrick Club which may hereafter, to Horace Walpole's
traveller from New York, or to Mr. Macaulay's from New
Zealand, be as the Nineveh of a delightful art which is
even now lost and past away, there hangs a reasonably
good copy of the portrait by Reynolds' in possession of the
Duke of Newcastle, where all this is visible yet ; for though
years of indulgence have done their work, and you look
on the hardened clumsy features, the settled look, the
painful stoop and infirmity of his later life, you see through
them still what as a young man Foote must have been — a
shrewd, keen, observant, mirthful, thoroughly intellectual
man, but not exactly a Sir Harry Wildair, Dick Amlet,
or my Lord Foppington. And so the matter seems to
have struck himself, notwithstanding the amount of favour
he received in such parts ; for the expression is attributed
to him, " If they won't have me in tragedy, and I am
" not fit for comedy, what the deuce am 1 fit for ? " A
question which it was possible to answer more satisfac-
torily, when he had once played the character of Bayes.
It is not unlikely that this performance shaped entirely
his subsequent career.
Garrick first introduced imitations into Bayes. The
tradition of the part had connected it with Dryden, even
to the great old poet's full suit of black velvet ; but Garrick
took off the black velvet, put on a shabby old-fashioned
black coat, and presented a mere quizzical, conceited,
solemn ass of a poet, going about reciting his own verses.
Gibber condemned the innovation ; and Lord Chesterfield
said that Bayes had lost dignity by it, and, no longer the
^ During the hrief glories of the among the admirable specimens
Manchester Art Festival the original which had there been collected of
•was exhibited, and showed its title the great English painter.
to a deservedly high place even
356 CONTRASTS WITH GARRICK IN BAYES. [Sumuel
burlesque of a great poet, was become no better than a
garretteer : but, besides that the character is really no
higher than this, the hearty enjoyment of his audiences
justified Garrick ; and when, in the delivery of the verses,
he gave a succession of comical pictures of the actors most
familiar to them, they laughed and cheered him to the
echo. Garrick's idea, Foote now seized, and worked out
after his own fashion. What was mirthful exaggeration
in Garrick, in him became bitter sarcasm ; the license
Garrick had confined to the theatre, Foote carried -with
keener aim beyond it ; the bad actors on the mimic stage,
he kept in countenance by worse actors on the real one ;
he laughed alike at the grave public transactions, and at
the flying absurdities of the day ; at the debates in par-
liament, the failures of the rebels, the follies of the
quidnuncs, at politicians, play writers, players ; and as,
flash upon flash, the merriment arose, Foote must at last
have felt where in all respects his real strength lay, and
that there was a vacant place in theatres he might of
right take possession of, a ground to be occupied without
rival or competitor. Davies says, no doubt truly, that
what he improvised and added to Bayes was as good as
the original, indeed not distinguishable from it but by
greater novelty of allusion. Why not strike out, then,
another Bayes more strictly suited to himself; equip
himself with character and wit, provided solely from his
own brain; and, with the high claim and double strength
of author as well as actor, carry the town by storm ?
The last night of his performance at Drury-lane was at
the close of April 1746; the interval he employed in
drawing out his scheme, and in getting together a small
baud of actors devoted to him who would help him in its
accomplishment ; and in the General Advertiser of the
22nd of April 1747, appeared the following advertise-
ment :
" At the Theatre in the Haymarket this day will be performed a
Concert of Mufic, with which will be gwitn gratis a new entertain-
ment called the Dinjerfions of the Morning, to which will be added a
farce taken from the Old Batchelor called the Credulous Hufband,
Fondlewife by Mr. Foote j with an Epilogue to be fpoken by the
B— d— d Coffee Houfe. To begin at 7."
The little theatre was crowded ; but the Diversions, as
Foote.']
STRIKES OUT HIS FUTURE CAREER. 357
then given, was never printed, and its character can only
be inferred from such casual recollections as have survived,
and from the general effect produced. It was such an
entertainment as till then had not been attempted.
Perhaps the closest resemblance to it was Sir William
Davenant's, of nearly a century earlier ; when he evaded
the general closure of the theatres, and baffled the stem
watch of the puritans, by his entertainment at Rutland-
house " after the manner of the ancients." After the
manner of the ancients, too, were Foote's diversions ; yet
such as no Englishman had attempted before him. In
introducing himself upon the scene, it is true, he did only
what Ben Jonson had done ; in laughing at brother au-
thors and rivals, he had the example of both Decker and
rare Ben ; in satirising politicians and statesmen, he but
followed Fielding and Gray; in "taking off" the pecu-
liarities of actors, Eastcourt and Garrick were before him ;
— but no man, since the old Athenian, had dared to put
living people upon the stage, not simply in their imper-
sonal foibles or vices, but with the very trick of voice that
identified them, and with the dress in which they walked
the streets. In the epilogue of the Bedford coffee-house,
the wits and critics of that celebrated place of resort were
shown in ludicrous dispute ; a notorious physician, less
remarkable for professional eminence than for the oddity
of his appearance and the meddlesome singularity of his
projects, was good-humouredly laughed at ; a quack ocu-
list, of wide repute and indisputably bad character, was
more bitterly ridiculed; and the first performance had
not ceased, when Foote received the name which always
afterwards clung to him, however in some respects
strangely misapplied, of the English Aristophanes.
That a second performance should if possible be pre-
vented, would also seem to have been determined on before
the first was over. The actors at once took up arms
against their merciless assailant, and applied the licensing-
act against him.' Even if there could be a doubt as to
his own spoken dialogue, the portion of Congreve's Old
Bachelor which he had acted (and where, by the way,
1 The vimlence of the feeling lines which the Drury-lane promp-
aroused may be estimated by some ter, Chetwood, thinks worth pre-
358 LICENSING ACT APPLIED AND EVADED. \_SamUel
Davies, who never admits him any actor's merit out of his
own pieces, says that in Fondlewife he merited and gained
much applause from the vividness of his reproduction
of the acting of Colley Cibher) brought him clearly within
its provisions. On the second night, accordingly, some
time before the hour of admission, a strong posse of eon-
stables from Bow-street were seen stationed at the doors ;
who duly drove away the audience as they approached,
and "left the laughing Aristophanes," as Mr. Cooke
observes, " to consider of new ways and means for his
" support."
The consideration did not occupy him long. The first
night was the 22nd of April ; on the 23rd the constables
put the law in force ; and the General Advertiser of Fri-
day the 24th of April, 1747, contained an advertisement
to this efiect :
" On Saturday noon, exaftly at 12 o'clock, at the new Theatre in
the Haymarket, Mr. Foote begs the favour of his friends to come
and drink a difh of Chocolate with him ; and 'tis hoped there will
be a great deal of Comedy and feme joyous fpiri's; he will endea-
vour to make the Morning as Diverting as poflihle. Tickets for
this entertainment to be had at George's Coffee- Houfe, Temple-
Bar, without which no perfon will be admitted. N.B. Sir Dilbury
Diddle nvill be there y and Lady Betty Frifk has ahfolutely promifedy
Against a spirit that thus laughed defiance at his ad-
versaries, turned injuries to commodities, and rose more
mirthful and buoyant from what to any other had been
hopeless depression and defeat, the clauses of acts of
parliament and the stafi's of constables were uplifted in
vain. The magistrates of London never issued another
warrant against Foote.
But, would he really give chocolate, as he promised ?
serving, in that curious little volume Thou mimic saws sense ! mock hero
about the Stage which he published in gesture !
so early as 1749. Can the squeak of a puppet present
us a Quin ?
" Thou mimic of Gibber — of Garrick Or a pigmy, or dwarf, shew a giant's
thou ape ! design ? &c.
Thou Fop in Othello ! thou Cypher in Can a Foot represent us the length of
shape ! &c. a yard 1
Thou mummer inaction ! thou coffee- Where, then, shall such insolence
house jester ! meet its reward ? "
&c. &c. &c
Fooie,^ MR. foote's mormxg chocolate. 359
A great many seem to have gone to the theatre expecting
it ; and Sir Dilbury Diddle and Lady Betty Frisk (or in
other words, according to a paper of the day, " many
*' among the nobihty and lovers of the Drama in high life,
" who dreaded and were attracted by the personality of
" his satire ") were particularly early in their attendance.
All was intense expectation in the small densely-crowded
theatre, when Foote came forward, and with a respectful
bow acquainted them '^that as he was training some
" young performers for the stage, he would, with their
" permission, w^hilst chocolate was getting ready, proceed
" with his instructions before them." That was his entire
secret. The constables had not dispersed even his little
company of actors. There they were still, crouching con-
cealed under the service of chocolate; gathered from
obscure corners of theatres or streets, wherever his quick
sure eye could detect them ; the ragged regiment that
Churchill afterwards laughed at, as
" the legion which our summer Ba)^es
From alleys here and there contrived to raise ;"
but in perfect drill and fitness for his purpose ; and among
them an actor of small parts, Castallo, whom he thought
comparable to Nokes for a quiet humour and strict pro-
priety ; and a youth, afterwards known as Ned Shuter,
whom he picked up marking at a billiard- table, and made
one of the first low comedians of the day. With these
his Diversions began, and were repeated no less than
forty times. Now, as his pupils, he taught them how to
act ; now, as old actors, he rehearsed the finest scenes of
the stage with them ; now, as critics, wits, authors, or
politicians, he improvised with them dialogues of passing
allusion to the times. Not an object presented itself at
the moment on which his eye could rest, that he did not
turn, like Biron, to a mirth- moving jest ; nor were his
hearers less ravished at the "voluble discourse'^ than
those of the noble of Navarre. The exceptions of course
were the old actors ; and from their complaints he drew
only fresh occasion for a jest. Thus he changed his
instructions to his pupils, one morning, into a comment on
the outcry against himself. He denied that what he did
could be hurtful, if what they did justified their preten-
360 MR. foote's evening tea. [^Samuel
sions ; but if it really be true^ he added, that mimickry
will ruin them, it is at least beconiing that the mimic who
displaces them from what they are not suited to, should
place them Avhere their abilities may be better employed.
And then he made Quin a watchman, for his sonorous
weighty style ; Delane a beggarman, for his tendency
to whine ; Ryan a knife-grinder, for his shrillness and
monotony ; Woodward, anything in the way of cleverness
hit the fine gentleman which he always assumed to be ;
and so, through all the rest. There was no carrying on
such a contest. The actors sounded a retreat ; and fur-
ther opposition was not offered to even the more direct
competition with the theatres implied in Foote's change
of his entertainment from morning to evening. It was
accordingly announced, in June, that
** At the requeft of feveral perfons who are defirous of fpending
an hour with Mr. Foote, but find the time inconvenient, inftead of
Chocolate in the morning Mr. Foote's friends are defired to drink
a difh of Tea with him at half an hour paft 6 in the evening,"
And, from this time, Mr. Footers Tea became an admitted
theatrical attraction.
It brought him an offer from Covent-garden in the
winter of this year, where he not only gave it several
times, but repeated Bayes and Fondlewife ; put new
strength into it, in the following January, by a new pro-
logue ; for his benefit, in February, ushered it in by his
performance of Gibber's favourite Sir Novelty Fashion ;
and, in the following month, opened with it again at the
Haymarket, where he soon after varied it with what he
called an Auction of Pictures y the advertisements an-
nouncing that *' This evening At his Auction Room, late
*' the little theatre in the Haymarket, Mr. Foote will
" exhibit a choice Collection of Pictures, &c." The col-
lection proved, indeed, so choice, that before the summer
season closed it was repeated nearly fifty times ; and again,
in the winter, it was resumed in the same little theatre ;
where, however, his run of success had to undergo inter-
ruption from that announcement of unparalleled impu-
dence, which invited the public to come and see a man go
bodily into a quart bottle placed on a table before them,
and sing a song in it. Foote never believed that the public
FooU.~\
HOAX OF THE BOTTLE CONJUROR. 361
would have the sense not to come to such an invitation,
and he had of course no power himself to rescind an en-
gagement which the proprietor of the house, Mr. Potter,
had reserved the right to make mthout consulting him ;
but he took the precaution of compeUing Potter to appoint
his own receiver, so that at least a return of the money
taken at the doors might be secured to the fools who
should pay it. We now know that not to plunder, but to
gull and laugh at the public, was the aim of the eccentric
Duke of Montagu who devised this hoax, and who put
forward a poor Scotchman who had some of&ce about the
India-house to execute it ; but not the less was Foote's
suggestion a wise one. He knew not more surely the
creduKty that would fill the theatre, than the rage that
would seek some victim for its 'scapegoat ; and nothing
had a greater effect in restoring good temper, than his
public announcement, after the riot, of the precaution he
had taken. This feeling also he improved by his promise,
a few days later, that by particular desire he should
exhibit at his Auction " some entire new lots, consisting
" of a poet, a beau, a Frenchman, a miser, a tailor, a sot,
" two young gentlemen, and a ghost ; two of which are
" original, the rest copies from the best masters." He
added, in renewed ridicule of one of the most discredit-
able quacks then Hving, that he should deliver a quite
new oration in praise of sight.
Peady wit and shrewd observation had been as usual
manifest, in his seizure of the great weakness of the day
as a new vehicle of entertainment and satire. For, such
were Auctions. They were at this time, and continued
until much later to be, the favourite morning occupation
of the fashionable and idle, and agencies for all kinds of
deception. They encouraged the cheat and impostor,
discountenancing the honest tradesman ; they connived
at private vices, destroyed public taste, and brought to
the same level, with a knock-down of the hammer, the
worst and the best things. Let us look at Foote's pic-
ture of an auctioneer, as a piece of the truth of his time,
and see if we may not recognise some truth in it still.
He makes him the most insinuating and oily of orators ;
and, from a Niger to a Nautilus, from the Apollo Belvi-
derc to a Butterily, a professed connoisseur. He has an
362 THE AUCTION AND AUCTIONEER. \_SamUel
auction at twelve, and can add your friend's cargo to the
catalogue. It can be done readily ; every day's practice ;
it is for the credit of the sale. Only last week, among
the valuable effects of a gentleman going abroad, he sold
a choice collection of china, with a curious service of plate,
though the real party was never master of above two delft
dishes and a dozen of pewter, in aU his life. Many an
aigrette and solitaire has he sold, to discharge a lady's
play debt ; but then (aside) he must know the parties,
otherwise it might be knocked down to the husband him-
self. That premised, he has no diificulty. He sells Mr.
Scrap's etchings for Eembrandt's; Tom Jackson's pots
and pans for a Teniers ; and, for a medal of the Empress
Oriuna, a Bristol soapboiler's farthing. For, to your
truly great auctioneer, everything is alike ; as he is
himself, with that inimitably fine manner of his, alike in
everything. He has as much to say upon a Ribbon as
upon a Raffaele.
Nor was it only such legitimate game for satire that
Foote ran down in his Auction, but, in the lots exposed
for sale, his wit again took the range of town, and made
its quarry of whatever invited attack most prominently,
whether in law or in medicine, in parliament or on the
stage. He who would now derive any adequate notion of
this from his writings, will nevertheless search them in
vain. Neither the Diversions nor the Auction was printed;
and though portions of both reappeared in the little
comedy called Taste, it is manifest that in this, as in every
similar piece of direct satire (the Orators for example),
what we now read as Foote's is but the faint reflection of
what he actually uttered. The allusions in the corre-
spondence of the time, the singular personal hostiHty he
had already provoked, the mixed deference, fear, and
popularity which thus early attended him, are not to be
explained simply by the accident of a coarse personality
here and there in his imitations ; but by the fact, that he
undisguisedly appeared before the public as a Satirist,
that the entire groundwork of his entertainment was
Satire, and that his confessed aim from the first was the
ridicule of what was ridiculous, in whatever walk of
society he might find it. No doubt a distinction existed
between his regular published pieces, and these earlier
F00te.~\ LIVING CHARACTEES INTRODUCED. 303
ones which he never sent to the press ; for, though living
characters were hit off in both, the context which has pre-
served the one was such as to render the other perishable.
^Vhen you can only read through the help of allusions
that have all passed away, the attempt to read would be
useless labour. In this Auction of Pictures, he laughed
at the Westminster justice, Sir Thomas de Veil, who had
made himself the too ready instrument of the actors in
opposing his first entertainment ; he ridiculed Mr. Cock
the fashionable auctioneer, and he satirised the extra-
vagances of Orator Henley; but all this was as temporary
in itself, as the witty and versatile comment that set it
forth, and both have descended to oblivion. When, how-
ever, in his more regular productions, he took higher
aim ; when he ridiculed the cant of methodism, denounced
the mischiefs of quackery, or exposed the impostures of
law ; when, himself the companion of men of rank and
large possessions, he attacked the vulgarity of rank-and-
money- worship, and did not spare the knavery or false
pretensions of either birth or wealth, — his Satire, even
when applied to persons, had the claim to become imper-
sonal through time ; and to remain as a warning to vice
and folly, long after the vicious and the foolish should be
forgotten.
Yet, in this, we would not assume any absolute decision of
a question beset with delicate and difficult considerations.
In the most apparently justifiable instances of individual
satire, there is at best a violation involved which perhaps
no individual amendment, or even general benefit, may
compensate ; and the question must always remain, whe-
ther he who assumes, is entitled to exert, a censorship
over morals and manners. But in Foote's case, as in
every other, it is right to state the matter fairly ; and
however mistaken the belief may have been in him (as
he had afterwards bitter reason to feel), he seems clearly
to have believed himself within the just limits of Comedy,
even in "taking off" mere folly and absurdities without
vice, as long as his imitations of them should be faithful,
as long as the singularities themselves should be sufficiently
prominent and known, and, where caused by natural infir-
mities, should have been thrust forward with an indecent
obtrusiveness which the very sense of infirmity ought to
364 FIRST PUBLISHED COMEDY. • [Samuel
have restrained. To this, we shall perhaps do him no
injustice if we add what once fell from the lips of even
so great a genius as Moliere. " I am manager of a
*' theatre as well as author. I must make some money,
*' as well as correct and instruct ; and I am necessarily
*' sometimes induced to consult the profit and interest
" of my company, at the expense of my own fame as an
'' author.'^
As an author, however, Foote's first published piece
now awaits us. It was played, with the title of The
Knights, when the run of the Auction had somewhat
abated ; and it lives still among his writings, as it deserves
to do. It is the first sprightly running of a wit, which to
the last retained its sparkle and clearness. Its flow of
dialogue is exquisitely neat, natural, and easy ; in expres-
sion terse and characteristic always, and in tone exactly
suited to its purpose. With neither the flippancy and
pertness of mere farce, nor yet the elaboration and refine-
ment of comedy, it hits with happy efi'ect the medium
between the two. It is just the writing that developes
character, and is there content to stop. There is a story,
but extremely slight, and only cared for till the characters
are completely shown. For these exclusively, you perceive
at once, the piece has been written ; and nothing is added
that can possibly be spared. One knight, a country quid-
nunc, has the most insatiable thirst for news, with not
the remotest comprehension of politics ; and the other, a
wealthy miser, has a taste as insatiable for stale stories,
with no other entertainment for his friends. And though
confined within the compass of two acts, of which the
scene is laid in a little inn in Herefordshire, with such
elaborate skill in the dialogue is the full-length of each
presented, and with an efi'ect so thoroughly real, that
mere general description would do scanty justice to it, and
we must try a personal introduction.
Sir Penurious Trifle is a miser, of whom Sir John
Cutler and his transmigrated stockings were but a feeble
type. Of his head and his daughter's, for instance, the
barber has the growth once a-year for shaving the knight
once a-fortnight ; his shoes are made with the leather of a
coach of his grandfather's ; his male servant is footman,
groom, carter, coachman, and tailor; and his maid employs
FoO/e.'] ITS TWO LEADING CHARACTERS. 865
in plain work for the neighbours her leisure hours, which
Sir Penurious takes care, as her labour is for his emolu-
ment, shall be as many as possible, by himself joining
with his daughter in scouring the rooms and making the
beds. This being his moral character, his intellectual is
of a piece, being all made up and borrowed ; and the last
man he is with, must afford him matter for the next he
goes to. Above all things he thanks you for a stoiy.
Throw him out that, and, no matter whether savoury or
insipid, down it goes with him, and up again to the first
person he meets. You meet him, and remark that he
looks well. " Aye, aye, stout enough,'^ he replies, " stout
" enough, brother knight ! hearty as an oak ; hey, Dick ?
" Gad, now I talk of an oak, I'll tell you a story of an
*' oak ; it will make you die with laughing." The story
is long ; but would you like to hear its close, as he heard
it himself in a cofiee-house in Bath, where he once
extravagantly breakfasted ?
"Lord Tom told us the stoiy ; made us die with laughing ; it cost
me eightpence, though I had a breakfast at home : so, you knight,
when Noll died, Monk there, you, afterwards Albemarle, in the north,
brought him back : so you, the Cavaliers, you have heard of them ?
they were friends to the Stuarts, what did they do, 'Gad, you Dick,
but they put up Charles in a sign, the royal oak, you have seen such
signs at country ale-houses : so, 'Gad, you, what does a puritan do,
the puritans were friends to Noll, but he puts up the sign of an owl in
the ivy-bush, and underneath he writes, ' This is not the royal oak :'
you have seen Avritings under signs, you knight : upon this, says the
royalists, 'Gad, this must not be : so, you, what do they do, but, 'Gad,
they prosecuted the poor puritan ; but they made him change his sign,
though : and, you Dick, how d'ye think he changed ? 'Gad, he puts
up the royal oak, and underneath he writes, ' This is not the owl in
' the ivy-bush.' It made us all die with laughing."
His companion, Sir Gregory Gazette, the other knight,
is a country politician, thoroughly miserable when he can
get neither the Gloucester Journal, nor the Worcester
Courant, nor the Northampton Mercury, nor the Chester
Mercury ; but with longing glances always cast towards
London. Let a mutual friend introduce to him a stranger,
and the quidnunc rides impatiently over the first sentence
of salutation : " Sir, I am proud to — Well, Sir, what
*' news? You come from — pray. Sir, are you a parliament
''man?'' ''Not I indeed, Sir." "Good-lack, maybe
" belong to the law?" "Nor that." " Oh, then in some
866 WEALTHY MISER AND COUNTRY QUIDNUNC. \_SamUel
"of the offices; the Treasury, or the Exchequer?"
*' Neither, Sir." "Lack-a-day! that's wonderful ! " Any
wonder he will accept as a common fact, but over any and
every common fact he cries " wonderful ! " He is played
upon with the information, that there are in London one
hundred and fifty newspapers printed in a week.
"Good now, good now !" he exclaims. "And all full, I reckon ;
full as an egg ; nothing but news ? Well, well, I shall go to London
one of these days. A hundred and fifty ! Wonderful ! And, pray
now, which do you reckon the best ? Who gives us the best account
of the King of Spain, and the Queen of Hungary, and those great
folks ? — Come you," he suggests to his new friend, "you could give us
a little news if you would ! come now !— snug !— nobody by !— Good
now, do. Come, ever so little. "
His clear notions on political affairs, and the profundity
of his discretion, will appear from his reception of a hint
which is thrown out to him of a treaty with the Pope.
" With the Pope ! Wonderful ! Good now, good now !
" how, how?" Well, he is told, we are to yield him up
a large tract of the Terra Incognita, together with both,
the Needles, the Scilly- Rocks, and Lizard-Point, on con-
dition that the Pretender has the government, and the
Bishop of Greenland succeeds to St. Peter's chair. That
might seem, at first sight, to be not altogether an advan-
tageous arrangement; but the Bishop, being a Protestant,
will no sooner find himself possessed of the pontificals,
than out he will issue a bull commanding all Poman
Catholics to be of his religion ; they, deeming the Pope
infallible, will follow his directions ; and then, Sir Gregory,
his well-informed friend triumphantly concludes, We are
all of one mind !
" Good lack, good lack ! rare news, rare news, rare news ! Ten
millions of thanks. Mr. Hartop. But might not I just hint this to
Mr. Soakum, our vicar ? 'twould rejoice his heart. Oh fie! hynoiruans.
Only a line— a little hint — do now. Well, it is so difficult to refuse Sir
Gregory anything. Ten thousand thanks ! now ! The Pope — won-
derful ! I '11 minute it down — both the Needles ? Ay, both. Good,
now, I '11 minute it — the Lizard-Point — both the Needles — Scilly-
llocks — Bishop of Greenland — St. Peter's Chair — Why, then, when
this is finished, we may chance to attack the Great Turk, and have
holy-wars again, Mr, Hartop ? That is part of the sc/ieme. Ah ! good
now ! you see I have a head ! politics have been my study many a day.
Ah ! if I had been in London to improve by the newspapers ! "
This is Sir Gregory Gazette ; who has no higher favour
FoOte.'] BOTH FROM THE LIFE. 867
to ask of you, than, Good now, could not you make
interest at some coffee-house in London to buy, for a
small matter, the old volumes of newspapers, and send
them into the country to him ? They would pass away
his time rarely in rainy weather. Lack- a- day! he's glad
the Pope is not to have Gibraltar, though ! We will
leave him with Son Tim reading his favourite London
Evening to him, that vv^e may show how honestly he likes
to have it read.
"Lackaday ! good now, Tim, the politics, child : and read the stars,
and the dashes, and the blanks, as I taught you, Tim. Yes, faf,her. —
We can assure our readers that the D dash is to go to F blank, and that
a certain noble L — is to resign his pi — e in the T — y, in order to make
r — m for the two three stars. — Wonderful ! Good now ! good now !
great news, Tim ! Ah, I knew the two three stars would come in play
one time or other. This London Evening knows more than any of
them. Well, child, weU."
And so the reader gets a tolerably clear notion of both
miser and quidnunc, of whom it is as easy to believe that
both characters had living prototypes in Foote's day, as it
would be difficult to believe that either has quite ceased
to have his living representative in our own. The pecu-
liarities are so true to the respective foibles and vices
exhibited, the colouring so rich, and the humorous ex-
travagance of detail so racy and effective. He tells us,
himself, that he had copied them from life, having met
with them in a summer's expedition ; and in that sense
he challenges for them the merit, as one by no means
common in his day, of being neither vamped from anti-
quated plays nor pilfered from French farces. The plot,
we should add, is in such manner constructed, that Sir
Penurious does not himself appear except in the assump-
tion of the lover of the piece, who in that disguise im-
poses on Sir Gregory ; and this part was played by Foote
himself, who dressed it after a certain gentleman in the
West of England, whose manners, Mr. Cooke tells us, he
took off with uncommon humour and perspicuity.
But while thus engaged, a somewhat startling announce-
ment in the General Advertiser greeted him. It came
from the comedian Woodward, now one of the company
at Drury-lane under Garrick's new lesseeship ; and its
purport was, that on a certain evening, by particular
868 woodward's threatened tit for tat. [Samuel
desire, Mr. Woodward would present his very good friend
the Auctioneer with Tit for Tat, or one dish of his own
Chocolate. He was to imitate him in Eayes and Othello,
laugh at him as a tragic actor, and dress at him in a
character of Otway's. Now, Foote was no exception to
the rule which makes the mimic intensely sensitive to
mimickry ; and he wrote at once to Garrick. It was
rumoured, he said, that a very contemptible friend of
the Drury-lane manager was to appear in a particular
character of a revived comedy, habited like his humble
servant, the present writer ; of course his humble servant
laboured under quite as little apprehension from the
passive wit of Mr. Garrick, as from the active humour
and imitation of Mr. Woodward ; nevertheless, as it
seemed they, Mr. Garrick and himself, were to be in a
state of nature, he might as well mention that he had a
plan for a short farce that would be wormwood to some,
entertaining to many, and very beneficial to Samuel
Foote. The temper of the letter further appeared in a
postscript somewhat the reverse of dignified, about the
free admission at Drury-lane. " If your boxkeeper," he
added, " for the future returns my name, he will cheat you
" of a sum not very contemptible to you, namely, five
" shillings." Garrick had a pen, however, only less neat
than his antagonist's ; and, though he retorted about the
five shillings almost as poorly as Foote had introduced it,
there was wit and point in what he added as to Wood-
ward. *' Should he dress at you in the play, how can
" you be alarmed at it, or take it ill ? The character,
" exclusive of some little immoralities which can never
" be applied to you, is that of a very smart, pleasant,
" conceited fellow, and a good mimic." It was the cha-
racter of Malagene in Otway's Friendship in Fashion;
but, as the play, and Woodward too, excellent comedian
as he was, were hissed off the stage together for the
mixed dullness and indecency of the entertainment they
presented, nothing more on the subject need here be said.
Its only interest for us is, that it shows us something thus
early of that fitful intercourse of Garrick and Foote,
which, while they lived, interfered not a little with the
comfort of both, and which cannot be omitted from any
view of the character of either.
F00te,'\ FITFUL INTERCOURSE WITH GARRICK. 869
From the first they were marked out for rivalry.
Distinguished by their superior intellectual qualities from
all competitors in the profession to which they belonged,
they had only each other to carry on a competition with ;
and if, as Pope says, war is necessary to the life of a wit
upon earth, what are we to expect when the wit has
another in the same line to make war upon, who is not
only jester and player like himself, but rival manager too ?
The virtue must be more than human that refrains ; and
the " state of nature " at which Foote hints in his letter,
was accordingly very often renewed. No doubt, also,
Foote was almost always the aggressor. His wit was ever
at its best with a victim wincing under it, and Garrick's
too obvious weaknesses were a temptation difficult to be
resisted. Gravely to dispute the genius of such a man,
would have been in Foote himself a weakness less par-
donable ; but in Garrick's own restless distrust of it, in
his perpetual fidget of se//-dGubt and suspicion, in his
abundance of small social defects, the occasion for laughter
was incessant. Foote came into the Bedford one night,
and kept him on the rack for an hour with the account
of a most wonderful actor whom he had that instant
seen. He had been so moved by spoken words, he de-
clared, as he could not till then have thought possible.
Nothing like it had occurred in his experience. It was
an efiect to make itself felt far and wide. The manifest
suffering of his listener at last became so pitiful, that
Foote good-naturedly brought it to a close by asking
him what he thought of the histrionic talents of Mr. Pitt ?
when Garrick's glad surprise broke out into unaffected
enthusiasm, and he declared, as he seems truly to have
felt, that if Pitt had chosen the stage he might have been
immeasurably the first actor upon it.
There was also, in Garrick, another kind of weakness
or suffering which Foote's jokes never spared, and of
which we have heard many whimsical examples from the
poet and wit who is happily still the living link' between
that age and our own. " Garrick lately invited Hurd,"
said Foote to a friend of Mr. Rogers, " to dine with him
1 Mr. Rogers died in December in the scholar-like book of Tahh-
1855. But many of his best anee- Talk by which Mr. Dyce has paid
dotes and sayings have been collected friendly tribute to his memory.
B B
870 garkick's alleged love of moisey. \_Samuel
*' in the Adelphi ; and after dinner, the evening being
" very warm, they walked up and down in front of the
'' house. As they passed and repassed the dining-room
^' windows, Garrick was in a perfect agony ; for he saw
*' that there was a thief in one of the candles which were
" burning on the table, and yet Hurd was a person of
" such consequence that he could not turn away from
" him to prevent the waste of his tallow." Another was
told to Mr. Eogers by Murphy, who, describing to Foote
some remarks made by Garrick on Lacy's love of money
as a mere attempt to cover his own parsimony by throw-
ing it on his fellow patentee, had ended with the old
question of A^Tiy on earth didn't Garrick take the beam
out of his own eye before attacking the mote in other
people's. " He is not sure," said Foote, " of selling the
" timber." Yet a third instance Mr. Eogers was not
less fond of relating, and told with infinite humour. At
the Chapter cofPee-house, Foote and his friends were
making a contribution for the relief of a poor fellow, a
decayed player, who was nick-named the Captain of the
Four Winds because his hat was worn into four spouts.
Each person of the company dropped his mite into the
hat, as it was held out to him. " If Garrick hears of
" this," exclaimed Foote, " he will certainly send us his
^'hat."
That Garrick was not absolutely a mean or illiberal
man, there is nevertheless abundant proof ; but he began
the world, as Johnson expresses it, mth a great hunger
for money, and what at the outset of life was a commend-
able feeling in him, became in later life a habit of which
he could not always divest himself, and which exposed
very often to undeserved derision a really kind and open
nature. In the main, however, the impression derived
from the great run of Foote's jokes on this subject, is
rather friendly and even cordial than otherwise. " There
" is a witty satirical story of Foote," says Johnson. " He
" had a small bust of Garrick placed upon his bureau.
" ' You may be surprised,' said he, ' that I allow him to
*' 'be so near my gold ; — but you will observe he has no
" ^ hands ? ' " The joke is a good one, but a man would
hardly so place an object displeasing to him that his eye
would have to rest upon it daily and hourly, for the sake
FoOte.^ JOKES AGAINST LITTLE DAVID. 371
of making fifty jokes infinitely better ; and tlie sarcasm is
less worth remembering than the friendly good- will lurk-
ing under it. Another story is told of a somewhat
pompous announcement, at one of Foote's dinner-parties
when the Drury-lane manager was among the guests, of
the arrival of ^^ Mr. Garrick's servants;" whereupon,
" Oh, let them wait," cried the wit, adding, in an afi'ected
under-tone to his own servant, but suf&ciently loud to be
generally heard ; '* but, James, be sure you lock up the
" pantry." A third, which continues to exhibit them in
cordial intercoui^se, is of their leaving the Bedford toge-
ther one night when Foote had been the entertainer, and
on his pulling out his purse to pay the bill, a guinea had
dropped. Impatient at not immediately finding it,
" Where on earth can it be gone to ? " he said. " Gone
" to the de\dl, I think," rejoined Garrick, who also had
been seeking for it everywhere. " Well said, David,"
cried Foote, " let you alone for making a guinea go farther
" than anybody else."
The friendly feeling may often be imperilled by a laugh,
but the laugh is never without a friendly feeling. Again
we find it most predominant, when, one sultry summer
night at the Haymarket, the Lying Valet had been put
up after the Devil upon Two Sticks to please Garrick, and
the satisfied Httle manager has called in at the green-
room with a triumphant " Well, Sam, so you are taking
" up, I see, with my farces, after all ; " whereupon Foote
cannot but throw in this drop of allaying Tiber : " Why,
" yes, David, what could I do better ? I must have some
" ventilator this intolerably hot weather." It was the
same when he insinuated a skilful compliment to Garrick
into the admirable Httle comedy just named, and was
careful to qualify it with the hint that the De\41 himself
could not match him at a bargain ; or when, in the great
scene of the Society of Antiquaries in the Nabobs he
coupled his veneration for Shakespeare with his eagerness
for a " Queen Anne's farthing." The bane and the
antidote are still found together. Nor could Garrick
himself help laughing at his friend's dry mention of his
Hampton temple to Shakespeare, when, replying to one of
the attacks upon his theatre in which all the authorities
of the Fathers had been quoted to show the Heathen
373 CONVERSATIONAL SUPERIORITY. \_Samuel
tendency of such, entertainments, Foote took occasion to
say : *' I never heard that Mr. Garrick sacrificed to Pan,
" or that Mr. Rich danced a jig in honour of Cybele.
" The former gentleman has indeed, it is said, dedicated
" a temple to a certain divinity called 2xaKeo-7reape,
*' before whose shrine frequent libations are made, and on
" whose altar the fat of venison (a viand grateful to the
" deity) is seen often to smoke ; but these profanations
" never entered the theatre, nor do I believe that any of
'' the players ever assisted at the sacrifices : so this must
*' be considered as a mere piece of personal superstition,
" for which the man, and not the profession, is account-
" able." Garrick could no more have resented gravely
this comical hit at his imperfect hospitalities, than
Shakespeare the pleasant allusion to his deer-stealing
propensities. In a word, we think it clear that Garrick
came within the limitation of a celebrated principle first
laid down by Foote, that you ought not to run the
chance of losing your friend for your joke, unless your
joke happens to be better than your friend. It was
never worth while in this case quite to put the friendship
in peril.
The always ready scholarship of Foote, let us add,
appears to have given him an advantage over Garrick
even where otherwise Garrick might have held himself
supreme, namely, in ordinary conversation. Cooke says
that it yielded him an astonishing amount of topics ; that
while Garrick's manner was more pleasing, he had no-
thing of the give and take of the other, or of his
exhaustless variety of resource ; and that in reaHty it
was out of the abundance of his knowledge Foote dared
to give his wit the reckless privilege it took, and to
display always so little fear of the consequences. Nor
was it only in scholarship, or the widest ordinary range of
a man of wit, that he made so ready and great a figure.
Charles James Fox told Mr. Rogers that Lord William
Bentinck once invited Foote to meet him and some
others at dinner in St. James's-street, and that they were
rather angry at Lord William for having done so, expect-
ing that Foote would prove only a bore, and a check on
their conversation. " But," said Fox, " we soon found
" that we were mistaken. Whatever we talked about,
FoOfe.^ SCENE AT LORD MANSFIELd's. 373
" — ^whether fox-hunting, the turf, or any other subject,
" — Foote instantly took the lead, and delighted us all."
The scholarship, as we have seen, is frankly admitted
by Johnson himself, no partial witness, who also gives
Foote the superiority over every one he had heard in
what he calls humorous narrative. Such was the hap-
piness of his manner in that kind of relation, he says,
that he never saw the stupidity it could not arouse, or the
arrogance it could not subdue. Pointing out on another
occasion the superior gaiety, dehcacy, and elegance of
Garrick's conversation, he added that Foote nevertheless
provoked much more laughter ; and, though he might
have the air of a buffoon paid for entertaining the com-
pany, it was that of one who well deserved his hire.
Thus encouraged, Boswell ventured one day to remark
how superior a tragic actor must always be to those who
only make us laugh. " If Betterton and Foote were to
*' walk into this room, you would respect Betterton much
" more than Foote." ^' Sir," said Johnson, " if Better-
" ton were to walk into this room with Foote, Foote
'' would soon drive him out of it. Foote, Sir, quateniis
" Foote, has powers superior to them all."
We shall perhaps amuse the reader by putting this
remark to proof. Garrick and Foote were among the
company one day at the dinner-table of Lord Mansfield.
Many grave people were there, and the manager of
Drury-lane was on his best good-company behaviour.
Every one listened deferentially to him as he enlarged on
the necessity of prudence in all the relations of life, and
drew his illustration from Churchill's death, which was
then the talk of the town. No one would have supposed
it possible to dislodge him from such vantage-ground as
this, surrounded by all the decorums of life, and with a
Lord Chief Justice at the head of the table. But Foote
unexpectedly struck in. He said that every question had
two sides, and he had long made up his mind on the
advantages implied in the fact of not paying one's debts
(as a modern wit expressed it, muddling away one's money
on tradesmen's bills). In the first place, it presupposed
some time or other the possession of fortune, to have been
able to get credit. Then, living on credit was the art of
living without the most troublesome thing in the whole
874 INTRODUCED TO DOCTOR JOHNSON. [Sumuel
world, which was money. It saved the expense and
annoyance of keeping accounts, and made over all the
responsibility to other people. It was the panacea for
the cares and embarrassments of wealth. It checked and
discountenanced av&rice ; while, people being always more
liberal of others' goods than their own, it extended every
sort of encouragement to generosity. If, indeed, the
genuine spark of primitive Christianity was ever to revive,
from this quarter it would come, and through the com-
munion of property by such means again brought about.
And would any one venture to say, meanwhile, that pay-
ing one's debts could possibly draw to us such anxious
attention from our own part of the world while we live, or
such sincere regrets when we die, as not paying them ?
All which, Foote put with such whimsical gravity, and
supported with such a surprising abundance of sarcastic
illustration, that in the general laughter against Garrick
no laugh was heartier than Lord Mansfield's.
That Foote was able to pay his own debts at the time,
and so far was independent of his argument, may perhaps
be inferred from his resort to it in this dignified company ;
and as we have anticipated thus far, his introduction to
Johnson, which dated many years before the Chief
Justice's dinner, and indeed followed soon after Garrick's
production oi Irene at Drury-lane, may here most fitly be
added. It took place at the house of Fitzherbert, one of
Johnson's earliest London friends, and whose steady
friendship for Foote (which descended to his family, for
his eldest son, the brother of Lord St. Helens, was Foote's
executor) is no mean evidence to character. *' Having no
" good opinion of the fellow," he said, describing the
incident long afterwards to Boswell, *' I was resolved not
" to be pleased ; and it is very difficult to please a man
*' against his will. I went on eating my dinner pretty
*' sullenly, affecting not to mind him. But the dog was
" so very comical, that I was obliged to lay down my
" knife and fork, throw myself back in my chair, and
*' fairly laugh it out. No, Sir, he was irresistible." After
this we find more frecjuent traces of intercourse between
them, than might be inferred from that tone of Johnson's
later life ; but he never completely forgave even the
threat to bring him on the stage in connexion T\ith the
FoOte^ THE MORALIST AND THE MIMIC. 375
Cock-lane ghost, though this was only a retort for a con-
temptuous allusion of his own, and was at once abandoned
(if ever seriously entertained), as Murphy expressly tells
us, with " no ill-will on either side." ^ At unexpected
times, and in unlooked-for places, we meet them together.
It was at Foote's dinner-table Johnson made the memo-
rable disclosure of having written, in a gaiTct in Exeter-
street, one of the most admired of the speeches of Mr.
Pitt. It is Foote who tells the story of Johnson's Jacobite
sympathies breaking out so strangely, on their visiting
Bedlam together, when he again and again returned to
the cell of the poor furious madman, who, while beating
his straw, supposed he was beating the Duke of Cumber-
land. It was Foote who made him roar when some one
had remarked of the Hockingham ministry that they were
fatigued to death, and quite at their wits' end, whereupon
the humourist rejoined, that the fatigue could hardly
have arisen from the length of the journey. It is from
Foote he quotes the rebuke to Lord Loughborough for
his ill-judged ambition to associate with the wits, " What
" can he mean by coming among us ? He is not only
" dull himself, but the cause of dullness in others." And
they were still on familiar terms when Johnson visited
Paris more than twenty years later, and even Boswell
could not but indulge a laugh at the wit's description of
the travelling philosopher. But our subject calls us back
to the time at which the retrospect of Foote's career may
be resumed, nor could anything restore us to it more
appropriately than one of Johnson's most amusing
reminiscences.
After running through one of his fortunes, Foote was
in difficult straits for money, and was induced to listen to
the overtures of a small-beer brewer, who, in considera-
tion of his large social acquaintance and unbounded popu-
larity, offered him a sleeping-partner's share in the profits
of the concern if he would but recommend the beer among
^ Something of the earlier feeling *' Life, says Falstaff, is a shuttle,
seems to have returned when he " He was a fine fellow in his way,
heard of Foote's death. " Did you "and the world is really im-
*' think he would so soon he gone ?" " poverisbed by his sinking glories,
he wrote to Mrs. Thrale, his thoughts " I would have his life written with
instinctively turning to Falstaff. " diligence."
376 THE BLACK BOY AND THE BEER. \jSamUel
his friends. Fitzherbert was one of tlie friends who took
it in consequence ; but it became so bad that the servants
resolved not to drink it, though they found themselves at
some loss in what way to notify their resolution. Know-
ing Foote's connexion with the beer, they were afraid of
offending their master, by whom they also knew Foote
to be much cherished as a companion. At last they
lixed upon a little black boy, who was rather a favourite,
to be their deputy, and deliver their remonstrance ; and
having invested him with the whole authority of the
kitchen, he was to inform Mr. Fitzherbert in all their
names, upon a certain day, that they would drink Foote's
small beer no longer. As fortune would have it, however,
on that day Foote happened to dine at Fitzherbert's, and
this boy served at table ; when he was so delighted with
Foote's stories, and merriment, and grimace, that when
he went down stairs he told them, " This is the finest
*' man I have ever seen. I mil not deliver your message.
" I will drink his small beer."
The fortune he had just spent, we grieve to say, was
the third. It fell to him from the death of a relation of
his mother's, immediately after the success of the Knights ;
and on the strength of it, if Mr. Cooke is to be believed,
he set up a dashing carriage with iter am, iterum, iterumque
painted on the panel ; and contributed largely for some
time, in companionship with his friends the Delavals,' to
^ Horace Walpole (writing on the private performance of Othello at
13th of March 1751) details to his Drury-lane, on the 7th of March
friend Mann, among the scandalous 1751, to which we have already
gossip of London, the alleged not made reference, and in which of
very creditable connexion of " one course Foote assisted the Delavals.
"Foote, a player" (it is the first "A play has been acted," he
time he is mentioned by Walpole, writes, " by people of some fashion
wJio afterwards regarded him with " at Drury-lane, hired on purpose,
oddly mingled feelings of deference " They really acted so well, that it
and admiration, dislike and fear) "is astonishing they should not
■with the Delaval family. It is not " have had sense enough not to act at
necessary to go into details, but the " all. You would know none of
charge (quite unfounded as we be- "their names, should I tell you;
lieve) is, that Foote had induced " but the chief were a family of
the elder Delaval to marry a woman "Delavals. . . The rage was so
of title to whom he had himself " great to see this performance,
been in the position of Tom Jones to " that the House of Commons
Lady Bellaston. In the same letter * ' literally adjourned at three o'clock
Walpole proceeds to describe the " on purpose : the footman's gallery
FoOfe.^ RTJXNIXG THROUGH THIRD FORTUNE. 877
the splendours and extravagance of London dissipation.
He may have been an ill judge of small beer, but his taste
for the richest wines was unquestionable ; and in his own
kitchen, if common rumour was to be believed, port was a
more familiar beverage than beer during those days of
extravagance. The story went, that dining at the table
of a nobleman whose tastes were in another extreme, and
whose habit was not only to drink his port- wine himself,
but to give his friends nothing else, Foote met his own
wine-merchant, who asked him in the course of conversa-
tion how the last supply of port turned out. " ^^Tiy, I
" should suppose, pretty well," said Foote, *' as I have
" had no complaints from the kitchen." We may
imagine the ease with which three fortunes would disap-
pear in such an establishment, and we need not be • sur-
prised that change of air was found soon to be essential.
Now it was, we are told, that he ^' moved ojff to the
" Continent to add one more dupe to the intrigues and
" fripperies of the French nation." It is certain that he
was frequently, and for considerable periods together,
absent from London between 1749 and 1752 ; in which
latter year he presented to Garrick the Kttle comedy of
Taste, for which the manager of Drury-lane, again on the
best possible terms with him, both wrote and spoke the
prologue.
This piece was little more than a selection from the
characters in his Auction and Diversions, with a thread of
story sufficient to connect them for dramatic purposes ;
but it shows of what genuine stuff those early entertain-
ments must have been composed, and it fairly justifies the
claim he makes in its dedication to his friend Delaval,
that the critics are not to call him presumptuous for
dignifying so short a performance with the name of a
comedy, until they can prove that its scenes and persons
are burlesqued or untrue to nature. He also reminds his
friend how often their conversations had turned to the
distinctions between comedy and farce, " for, in whatever
"was strung with blue ribands. "* Sir, Indeed your Royal Highness
*' What a wise people ! What an " 'is in the wrong to act thus : the
*' august senate ! Yet nay Lord "' English are a grave nation.' " —
" Granville once told the Prince, letters, Ed. Cunningham, ii. 242-3.
** I forget on occasion of what folly,
378 THE COMEDY OF TASTE. [^SaWUel
" dissipation the world may suppose our days to have
" been consumed, many, many hours have been conse-
" crated to other subjects than generally employ the
" giddy and gay." Nor was this the only intimation which
now went forth to the public that Foote was returning to
their service from far different associations and employ-
ments. The little comedy was not acted for his own
emolument, but was a gift to an ingenious and humorous
man, James Worsdale (the Jemmy Worsdale who carried
Pope's letters to Curll) ; an English painter whose mis-
fortunes had driven him to the stage, whose treatment
by Sir Godfrey Kueller induced Walpole and others to
befriend him, and whose personal history made not in-
appropriate to him the offering of a little comedy whose
design was to satirise the ignorant affectation with which
the fashion of the day gave eager welcome to anything
with the appearance of age upon it, and turned away
scornfully from modern art however meritorious.
That this was really the design of Taste, and that the
criticism, is hasty and incorrect which attributes to it the
shallower design of denouncing even an honest admiration
of the genuine old masters as an injustice to the living,'
we cannot show better than by introducing the principal
figure of the piece, Mr. Carmine, who will surely hereafter
find his place among the sterling productions of English
comedy, as not less deserving to live than those glorious
professors of the brush it was his daily occupation to
produce.
Let us call him Old Master Carmine. The meanness
of his original only demonstrates the greatness of his
genius. It was a swindling auctioneer who first saw his
brush at work on the window of a disreputable house in
Goodman's-fields, scribbling in scarcely legible letters
Coffee, Tea, and Chocolate. His genius soared, then, no
higher than to the daubing of diabolical angels for ale-
houses, of dogs with chains for tanners' yards, of rounds
of beef and roasted pigs for Porridge-island. But from
^ When in one of his writings he heat of the painter's art may be as
would express his highest admiration discernible " in the comic pencil of
for the painter of Marriage-k-la- *' a Hogarth as in the serious
Mode, he does it by the remark that '* designs of a Kaffaele."
the divine fervour and Promethean
F00te.~\ MR. PUFF AND MASTER CARMINE. 379
that contemptible state lie was raised by Mr. Puff, the
fashionable auctioneer, \o the Cat and Fiddle in Petticoat-
lane, and to the Goose and Gridiron in Paul's-churchyard,
the first live things he drew. And to this higher school
of painting Mr. Puff's liberality introduced him, because
he detected the genius that might hereafter assist him in
supplying works by the Old Masters of a quality that
should be level with the demands of public taste. Of
course, therefore, Mr. Puff did not quit him there. Who
but Mr. Puff recommended him to Mr. Stiff, the mercer
upon Ludgate-hill, so that he came to draw the Queen
upon his signboard ? That stroke of genius settled it ;
and finally Puff and Carmine entered into partnership,
Carmine producing works by the old masters, and Piiff
disposing of them at fashionable sales. Profits were
divided, and they were not small. If one of Carmine's
Guides fetched one hundred and thirty guineas, there
would then be a deduction of four guineas for the frame,
three for the painting, two pieces to Yarnish for bidding
against Squander, and Brush five for bringing Sir Tawdry
Trifle, leaving one hundred and sixteen of sheer plunder
to di\ide. Necessarily, however, before the Guide was
perfected, there had been some trifling cost incurred in
that best conditioned estate in the county of Middlesex
(Mr. Carmine's dilapidated lumber-room), which Mr. Puff
had announced as its last preceding abode. " Why now,"
says Mr. Puff to Mr. Carmine, ** there's your Susanna ;
" it could not have produced you above twenty at most,
" and by the addition of your lumber-room dirt, and the
" salutary apphcation of the spaltham-pot, it became a
" Guido worth a hundred and thirty pounds." " Sir,"
says Mr. Carmine to Mr. Puff, "if I do now and then
*' add some tincts of antiquity to my pictures, I do it in
" condescension to the foible of the world : for. Sir, age,
" age. Sir, is all my pictures want to render them as good
'' pieces as the masters from whom they are taken ; and
" let me tell you. Sir, he that took my Susanna for a
" Guido, gave no mighty proof of his ignorance, Mr.
- Puff"
Who will doubt that this is legitimate satire, and also
excellent comedy ? But, to complete Mr. Carmine, he
should be shown in t^e manufacture of modem as well as
880 LADY PENTWEAZEL. [Samuel
of ancient art ; nor less great in fashionable portrait-paint-
ing, than at a sign-post or a Gui9.o. Let us, therefore,
introduce also a sitter of his, the vulgar old wife of an alder-
man, Lady Pentweazel, the part which Worsdale played
in the comedy. She goes about gaping for flattery, as un-
fledged crows for food; and, like them, gulps down every-
thing coarse that is ofiered her. She was a Griskin, Molly
Griskin was her maiden name ; and all her family by the
mother's side were famous, she says, for their eyes. She
has a great- aunt among the beauties at Windsor, who has
a sister at Hampton-court, a perdigious fine woman — she
had but one eye indeed, but it was a piercer ; that one
eye got her three husbands. " We were called," Lady
Pentweazel adds, " the gimblet-eyed family.'^ Therefore
she wishes that Mr. Carmine, in painting her portrait,
should let her know Avhen he comes to the eyes, that she
may call up a look. She has had her day, she hints, she
has had her day. " And have still, Madam," flatters the
artist : he shall indeed make no more difference between
what she was, and what she is, than Rubens has dis-
tinguished between Mary de Medicis a virgin, and the
same lady a regent. " Mr. Carmine," says the dame there-
upon, " I vow you are a very judicious person ; I was
" always said to be like that family. When my piece
" was first done, the limner did me after Yenus de Medicis,
" which I suppose might be one of Mary's sisters ; but
'' things must change : to be sitting for my picture at this
'' time of day ; ha ! ha ! ha ! — but my daughter Sukey,
" you must know, is just married to Mr. Deputy Dripping,
" of Candle wick- ward, and would not be said nay; so it
" is not so much for the beauty as the similitude. Ha !
" ha ! " Stop, though ; here comes Mr. Puff" to admire
her portrait. Ha ! this is it, says Mr. Puff. Impossible
to err ; although Mr. Carmine is generally successful, in
this instance he is particularly happy: where can you
meet with that mixture of fire and softness, but in the
eyes of Lady Pentweazel ?
'* Oh, Sir ! " "That clearness and delicacy of complexion, with that
flow of ruddiness and health." "Sir! Sir! Sir!" "That fall of
shoulders, turn of neck, get-on head, full chest, taper waist, plump
." " Spare me, sweet Sir ! Well, I profess, Sir, you are a gen-
^eman of great discernment ; and if business should brin^ you into
FoOte.^ WITH GARRICK IN PARIS. 381
the city, for, alas ! what pleasure can bring a man of your refined taste
there?" — "Oh, Ma'am!" — "I say. Sir, if such an accident should
happen, and Blowbladder-street has any charms" — "Oh, Ma'am!
Ma'am ! Ma'am !" — "It is not impossible but we may receive you,
though not equal to your merits " — " Ma'am ! " " Yet in such man-
ner as to show our seuse of them. Sir, I'm your very obedient."
"Your ladyship's most" — "Not a step." "Ma'am !" "Sir .'
" Ma'am ! " " Sir, your most obedient." " Your devoted."
And so, in a storm of prodigious pufiings and curtsyings,
exit Lady Pentweazel.
As an actor, Foote himself did not re-enter the stage
until the close of the following year, when, compelled to
it doubtless by demands he could not longer supply in any
other way, he played at Drury-lane the character of Sir
Charles Buck in his Englishman in Paris ; a little comedy
written for Macklin and his daughter six months before,
and in which they had singular success at Covent-garden.
But, before this re- appearance, he had occupied more than
usual of town-talk and gossip, of which Grarrick makes
jesting mention in a prologue on his return to Drury-lane.
For, the rival wits had met in France during the year of
Foote' s dissipations there, and the friendly feeling re-
established between them, and already announced in the
prologue to Taste, continued to exist unabated. Foote
would humorously relate an incident of his friend's visit
to show the ups and downs of the old and new school of
acting, inasmuch as the very day when Garrick was in-
troduced to the French King, was also that when old
Quin was robbed by a highwayman on Hampstead- heath;
but for himself, he added, being neither of the old school
nor the new, something between a reprobate French
courtier and a reckless EngHsh highwayman w^ould best
express the notion then prevalent as to his own career. In
proof of which may be quoted some lines from Garrick's
prologue, spoken by Foote himself.
" Whene'er my faults or follies are the question,
Each draws his wit out, and begins dissection.
Sir Peter Primrose, smirking o'er his tea,
Sinks, from himself and politics, to me.
' Paper ! boy.' ' Here, Sir, I am.' ' What news to-day ? '
* Foote, Sir, is advertised.' ' What ! run away ?'
* No, Sir ; this week he acts at Drury-lane.'
* How's that ?' (cries feeble Grub). ' Foote come again !
382 COMEDIES AGAINST THE FRENCH. \_SamUel
' I thought that fool had done his devil's dance ;
' Was he not hang d some months ago in France ? ' " ^
This prologue, it would seem, was encored every night ;
and the comedy itself had a success which, notwithstand-
ing many clever and telling scenes, appears somewhat dis-
proportioned to its merits, and to the more moderate
success achieved by the better comedy of Taste. But Foote
did not confine himself to his own pieces, on this resump-
tion of his place as an actor. Though the EnghsJiman in
Paris was played a surprising number of times, his Tea
had often to be repeated, and the Knights was successfully
revived with a new prologue by himself, — he also appeared
many times in Fondlewife and Sir Courtly Nice, and
added to his list of parts Ben in Congreve's Love for Love,
and Captain Brazen in Farquhar's Recruiting Officer, both
which he gave repeatedly. In the following year he
went to the Haymarket, and in a summer entertainment
laughed at Macklin's lecturing extravagancies, and at
some amusing quarrels of the ladies of the theatre ; green-
room squabbles of Mrs. Bellamy and Mrs. Woffington
wherein certain public men were involved, that had been
much the talk of the town. Then, early in the succeed-
ing year (1756), he took an engagement at Covent-garden,
where he produced, with a success far exceeding even the
Englishman in Paris, a sequel to it with the title of the
Englishman Returned from Paris ; the object of which,
as that of its predecessor had been to exhibit a sturdy
young Briton in his first contact with effeminate French
fripperies and fashion, was to show him now completely
subdued by the same, and an object of scorn and pity to
English beholders. Referring to the bills of the theatre, we
find that this Covent-garden engagement occupied him from
February to May, and that in the course of it he repeated
many times Fondlewife, Captain Brazen, and Sir Penu-
rious Trifie ; that he added to his new parts the Lady
* " He had passed," says Mur- " executed near Bordeaux. What
phy, " a great part of the preceding " gave rise to such a rumour, was
'* summer in France. During his *' never known. He arrived in
'* absence a report prevailed, and " London about the middle of
*' was circulated as a matter of fact " August, and in his usual vein of
'* in the newspapers, that Foote was "humour turned the story to a
" condemned for some crime, and "joke." — Life of Garrick, i. 242.
Foote.'\
POPULAR ENGLISH VIEW OF A PARISIAN. 383
Pentweazel of liis own little comedy, and tlie Sir Paul
Plyant of Congreve's Double Dealer (a character in which
Wilkes, who liked his acting, thought him particularly
good) ; and that he advertised himself for Polonius in
Hamlet, but, before the night of performance came, lost
courage and withdrew. It is manifest, however, that the
grand attraction of the year was his performance of Sir
Charles Buck in the two pieces satirising French morals
and manners.
The subject no doubt was a popular one. We had not
long been at peace with France, within three short
months we were going to war again, and how better
employ the interval than by keeping national animosities
healthily ahve? Foote was cosmopoHtan enough to
know better ; and even these comedies, mth their occa-
sional excellent discrimination of French peculiarities,
are not without large and liberal allowance for national
differences ; but he was writing for the English boxes,
pit, and gallery, and did not care to carry his moral
above the taste or comprehension of his audiences. As
he left what he desired to express, therefore, it remains
for us to contemplate — a piece of the truth of the time,
at any rate ; the English view of France, and of French
fashions and foibles, in 1754 ; from which Englishmen in
1854 may draw conclusions that would then have been
downright heresy.
Here it is. — A Frenchman is a fop. It is their na-
tional disease. Not one of the quahties for which you
celebrate them, but owes its origin to a foible. Their
taste is trifling, their gaiety grimace, and their poHteness
pride. Not but that a short residence in France is a
necessary part of every man of fashion's education. It
gives him a true relish for his own domestic happiness ;
a proper veneration for his national liberties ; a contempt
for adulation ; and an honour for the extended and more
generous commerce of his country. The French men are
all puppies, mincing and dancing, chattering and grin-
ning; the French women, a parcel of painted dolls.
Their food is only fit for hogs ; and as for their language,
let them learn it that Kke it. Travel, forsooth, is now
the word ; its consequence, an importation of every foreign
folly ; and thus the plain persons and piinciples of Old
384 AGAIN AT THE BEDFORD. \_Samuel
England are so confounded and jumbled with the worst
growth of every climate, that we have lost our ancient
characteristic, and are become a bundle of contradictions,
a piece of patchwork, a mere harlequin's coat. How
frequently are substituted, for national prepossessions
always harmless and often happy, guilty and unnatural
prejudices ! Unnatural — for the wretch who is weak and
wicked enough to despise his country, sins against the
most laudable law of nature ; he is a traitor to the com-
munity where Providence has placed him, and should be
denied those social benefits he has rendered himself
unworthy to partake. As to exotic attendants, French
flunkies and barbers, those instruments of our luxury,
those panders to our pride, the importation of such
puppies makes a part of the politics of our old friends the
French. Unable to resist us whilst we retain our ancient
roughness, they have recourse to those minions, who
would first, by unmanly means, sap and soften our native
spirit, and then dehver us an easy prey to their employ-
ers. The moral of all which, and of both the comedies
as left by Foote, is, that as it is our happiness to be born
Britons it should also be our boast ; and that we cannot
cherish a wholesomer belief than that French fashions are
as ill suited to our genius, as French politics are per-
nicious to our peace. — Such was the view of France and
Frenchmen most popular in our English theatres a
hundred years ago.
Meanwhile Foote had not been neglecting British
fashions and foibles, pretenders, politicians, or players.
He has taken his former place at the Bedford,' and in his
critical and satirical corner is again supreme. All who
know him come early in the hope of being admitted of
his party at supper, the less fortunate engage boxes near
him, and wherever the sound of his voice is heard the
table is in a roar. Since last we saw the place, some new
faces are there, but some familiar ones are gone. Old
1 The first number of the Con- " and a wit. Jokes and bon mots
noisseur, which was published on "are echoed from box to box;
the last of January in this year, " every branch of literature is criti-
thus describes the Bedford : — "This " cally examined ; and the merit of
" coflfee-house isevery night crowded "every production of the press, or
" with men of parts. Almost every "performance of the theatres,
*' one you meet is a polite scholar " weighed aad determined."
F0Cle.~\ LAUGHING AT MACKLIN. 385
MackKn, weary of his doubtful successes on the stage, has
taken oddly enough to another branch of public employ-
ment, having set up a tavern of his own near the Bedford,
on the present site of the Ta\dstock-hotel, where, by the
alternation of a three- shilling Ordinary with a shiQing
Lecture, at both of which he is presiding deity, he sup-
plies at once the bodily wants and what he conceives to
be the mental deficiencies of the day. He is to make
everybody orators, by teaching them how to speak ; and,
by way of teaching them also what to speak, presents
himself every other night Avith a discourse on some sub-
ject wherein he thinks the popular mind insufficiently
informed. His range is unlimited, between the literature
of the ancients and the manners of the moderns ; and,
with the Ancient Chorus for one lecture, for its successor
he will take the Irish Duel : but, whatever his subject,
the harvest of ridicule for Foote is unfailing. The result
is that people go to hear him rather than the lecturer, for,
it being part of the plan to invite the audience to offer
hints on the subject-matter and so exhibit their progress
in oratory, the witty sallies and questionings of Foote
have become at last the leading attraction.
" Order ! '' he cried one night, that being the esta-
blished mode of intimating yoar Avish to put a question to
the lecturer. " Well, Sir," said Macklin, " what have
" you to say upon this subject ? " The subject was the
prevalence of duelling in Ireland ; and the lecturer, who
had begun at the earliest period of the Irish history, was
now arrived at the reign of Elizabeth. " I think. Sir,"
said Foote, ^' this matter might be settled in a few words.
" What o'clock is it. Sir ? " Mackhn could not possibly
see what the clock had to do with a dissertation on duel-
ling, but gruffly reported the hour to be half-past nine.
" Very well," says Foote, " about this time of the night,
" every gentleman in Ireland that can possibly afford it
*' is in his third bottle of claret, and therefore in a fair
" way of getting drunk ; and from drunkenness proceeds
" quarrelling, and from quarrelliug duelling, and so there's
" an end of the chapter." The abridgment was so satis-
factory to the audience, the hour of the night being
considered, that Macklin had to shut up his antiquarian
disquisition in great dudgeon.
.386 THE GRAND PANJANDRUM. \_Samuel
His topic, on another evening, was tlie employment of
memory in connexion with the oratorical art ; in the
course of which, as he enlarged on the importance of
exercising memory as a habit, he took occasion to say that
to such perfection he had brought his own, he could learn
anything by rote on once hearing it. Foote waited till
the conclusion of the lecture, and then, handing up the
subjoined sentences, desired that Mr. Mackhn would be
good enough to read and afterwards repeat them from
memory. More amazing nonsense never was written.
" So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf, to
" make an apple-pie ; and at the same time a great she-
" bear, coming up the street, pops its head into the shop.
" * What ! no soap ? ' So he died, and she very impru-
" dently married the barber ; and there were present the
" Picninnies, and the Joblillies, and ih.Q GaryuHes, and
*' the Grand Panjandrum himself, with the little round
" button at top ; and they all fell to playing the game of
" catch as catch can, till the gunpowder ran out at the
" heels of their boots." It is needless to say that the
laugh turned against old Macklin, as it has turned against
many younger and Kvelier people since who have read
these droll sentences in Harry and Lucy, and who, Hke
Miss Edgeworth's little hero and heroine, after mastering
the great she-bear and the no-soap, for want of knowing
who died have never arrived at the marriage with the
barber, or perhaps, even after proceeding so far, have
been tripped up by the Grand Panjandrum with the little
round button at top.
Such at last became the vogue of Foote's fan at these
lectures, that it ended, as we have said, in his establishing,
for a few weeks at the Haymarket, a summer lecture of
his own. And here it was he gave his practical illustration
of the Greek Tragedy, in support of Mr. Macklin's notion
that it was still applicable to modern subjects. Exhibiting
London struck suddenly with mortal terror, by the appear-
ance in its streets of a highly despotic and overbearing
personage, attended by a Chorus of tinkers, tailors, black-
smiths, musicians, bakers, and other trades, he showed
how intelligible it would be that this mysterious personage,
so attended, should strut about the stage of a London
theatre, brag of the unlimited extent of his power, threaten
Foot 6,1 BURLESQUES THE GREEK CHORUS. 387
fire and sword on all sides of him for no reason on earth,
and finally declare his intention of storming the Tower,
enslaving the City, and dethroning the Sovereign ; and
with what a moving eff'ect thereupon, the Chorus of trades,
terrified by such explosive threats, would naturally fall
upon their knees, tear their hair, beat their breasts, and
supplicate their oppressor to spare the eff'usion of so much
human blood; to which, after a conflict of contending
passions that should without the least impression of
fatigue fill up four more acts, the hero would finally
agree, and bring down the curtain to a full hymn of
thanksgiving for the deliverance of so many helpless
human beings, and to three cheers from pit and gallery for
an entertainment so happily suited to the understanding
and taste of a British audience.
And thus, after such or other as ludicrous fashion,
through many summer nights, did Macklin's absurdities
supply him theme for laughter. The Haymarket was
crowded nightly ; the Piazza cofiee-house was shut up ;
poor Macklin, as "vintner, cofieeman, and chapman/'
made his next appearance in the London Gazette ; and
there is a letter of Murphy's to his brother dated April
1755, in which he says that Foote had made 500/. in five
nights by his counter- oratory to Macklin.
Arthur Murphy was among those new faces at the
Bedford who had sought and obtained Foote's notice, and
their acquaintance was now of some standing. No figure
appears, in Murphy's early letters to his friends, with such
sprightly and enlivening efi'ect as that of the famous wit
Mr. Foote. For example, Arthur is at Bristol in the
lowest possible spirits, when there drives up to the hotel
a splendid equipage, out of it springs Foote very hand-
somely dressed, and "while I am writing this, he is
" grinning at me from a comer of the room, we have had
" Mr. Punch already, and his company has lifted my
" spirits, and that is what makes me go on at this rate."
Or they are holiday-making together in a country-liouse,
and Murphy is sadly preparing himself for London to
get ready a number of the Grm/s Inn Journal for press,
when Foote says he need not go on that account, and,
producing a French magazine, tells him he will find in it
one of the prettiest oriental tales imaginable which he has
0 0 2
388 INTERCOURSE WITH ARTHUR MURPHY. \_SamUel
but to translate and send to the printer, and Murphy takes
his advice, and so gets promoted to the notice and friend-
ship of Johnson, whose tale it turns out to be that the
French magazine had itself translated from a number of
the JRamhIer. Or perhaps they are together on the first
night of Murphy's Orphan of China, dining with Hogarth
and Sir Francis Delaval at the Rose near Drury-lane, and
waiting to hear the fate of the tragedy, which is supposed
to have been endangered by the substitution of Mrs.
Yates for Mrs. Gibber in the heroine ; when a letter of
Mrs. Gibber's is handed to Murphy, assuring him that she
is at that moment offering up her prayers for his success,
which, having handed to Foote, the wit reads aloud and
returns with the grave remark that " Mrs. Gibber is a
" Roman Gatholic, and they always pray for the dead." '
Or it may be, that, tired of Macklin's talk about oratory,
they have betaken themselves to enjoyment of the real
thing, and are together in the gallery of the House of
Gommons when Pitt is putting forth all his powers in an
attack upon Murray. " Shall we go home now?" says
Murphy, as he afterwards told the story to Mr. Rogers.
" No," replies Foote ; " let us wait till he has made the
" little man " (Murray) " vanish entirely."
Thus cordially began an acquaintance, which seems to
have continued with but few and slight intermissions ;
one of which, however, dates at the production of the
Englishman Returned from Paris, when Murphy unrea-
sonably complained of Foote's having founded it upon a
suggestion of his, as though the original suggestion of
the Englishman in Paris did not entitle its author to the
unquestioned right of himself working out and completing
any hint proceeding from it. Nevertheless, Murphy per-
sisted in putting forward a Sir Gharles Buck of his own ;
and when the public would have nothing to say to him,
he revenged himself by enlivening his future comedies,
whenever he could, by pilfering as many as possible of
those witticisms of which the public thus showed their
preference. Indeed he put Foote himself, and not a few
of his good things, bodily into a play not many months
after he died; and even then had not forgotten his
1 Murphy tells the story himself in his Life of Garrick, i. 340-1.
FoOte.'] COMEDY OF THE AUTHOTl. 389
contemptible supposed grievance. " He lias wit to ridi-
" cule you/' says Bygrove to Dashwood in Knoio Tour
Oim Mind, " invention to frame a story of you, humour
" to help it about ; and when he has set the town a
" laughing, he puts on a familiar air, and shakes you by
" the hand." After his own death, too, his executor
found among his papers this outline of an imaginary
scene in which he proposed to have introduced the failings
of his old friend. ^' Foote gives a dinner — large com-
" pany — characters come one by one : — sketches them as
" they come : — each enters — he glad to see each. At
" dinner, his wit, affectation, pride ; his expense, his
*' plate, his jokes, his stories ; — all laugh ; — all go, one
" by one — all abused, one by one ; — his toadeaters stay ;
" — he praises himself — in a passion against all the
" world." We have here perhaps the very worst, to set
against the best, that was to be said against Foote by
those who most intimately knew him.
It may remind us that what has been held to be one of
bis most grave offences dates at this time. He began an
engagement with Garrick at Drury-lane in September
1756, and, after playing several of his own characters
and of Congreve's, produced on the 5th February 1757
his little comedy of the Author. It was admirably
written ; it contained the outline of a story which would
have tasked only a little more patience than Foote's to
give a masterly completeness to ; (the father's return in
disguise to test the honour of his son, was a hint for
Sheridan) ; and it was rich in character. Yery credit-
able also was the spirit in which it dealt with the claims
of Authorship to higher esteem, and to a better kind of
patronage, than it was the fashion of those days to award
to it ; and perhaps many an author whom its title attracted
to Drury-lane, crept back to his garret not ungrateful to
the laughing comedian.
And here, before describing the offence just hinted at,
we may interpose the remark that this feeling in Foote
was an honest one, and that in his writings there is never
any disguise of the man, where such disclosure may
properly be made. Indeed, of all their characteristics,
there is none so marked as the absence of any sort of
pretence either in language or sentiment. "When serious,
390 '' ENGLISH ARISTOPHANES." [SamUcl
you perceive that lie means to be so ; just as, Avhen lie
laughs, he leaves you in no doubt as to that. There is
no mere face-making in either case. He is an avowed
satirist, and this must always detract from the pleasure
he might otherwise give ; more especially as the subjects
of his satire for the most part necessitate the treatment
implied in the remark of the French wit, that to give a
Muscovite a sensation you must flay him alive. But we
repeat our conviction, that in the main it is honest satire,
and that its force with its contemporaries lay precisely in
that truth and reahty of it. In this direction he is always
strong. His scenes and subjects are often trivial in the
extreme, but are yet held together by the vividness and
bustle of something actual going on in them. I^o one
who now carefully reads them can have any surprise at
their success, or any feeling but regret that they dealt so
much with what is transitory. As mere examples of
comic dialogue, they are perfect. Within a more limited
range, they have not much less than the wit, and they
have more than the character, of Congreve. His people
are not to be mistaken when you have once made their
acquaintance ; for they retain always so perfectly the
trick of talk by which you knew them first, that perhaps
no dramatic writings might be read aloud so easily without
repetition of the speakers' names. Their great fault is
the haste and impatience which has left them often as a
mere succession of witty scenes, when, with a little more
labour, and no more invention, a developed plot would
have given more consistency and completeness even to
the characters. But when he had once had his laugh,
he was too easily satisfied ; and, partly because of the
restriction of his theatre to a summer fare lighter than
that of the winter houses, partly because of his own care-
less temperament, he was too ready to throw away upon
a farcical sketch, what would have supplied, to his friend
Murphy for example, matter for elaborate comedies. The
comparison of him with Aristophanes is absurd, because
he had nothing of the imagination, or wealth of poetry,
of the Greek ; but he was like him in wit, whim, ready
humour, practical jokes, keen sarcasm, vivid personation,
and above all in the unflinching audacity with which he
employed all these in scorn and ridicule of living vices
FoOfe.j OLD TAMP THE PUBLISHER. 891
and hypocrisies. As it was said, of the Greek satirist,
that lie exercised a censorship more formidable than the
Archon^s, hardly less is to be said of the English wit
who took a range of jurisdiction wider than Sir John
Fielding's or Sir Thomas de Yeil's ; and, for all the vast
difference that remains, it is perhaps little less or more
than between Athens in the age of Pericles, and London
in the time of Bubb Dodington. To find ourselves again
in the thick of a not very dignified age, we have but to
read Foote's comedies and farces ; and, though it was a
grander thing no doubt to have such subjects for satire as
a cowardly Bacchus or a gormandizing Hercules, veritable
Gods to pull to pieces, yet, among the sham divinities
who received the Londoner's worship, or had the dis-
position of his fortunes, there was food enough for
laughter and exposure. " Yirgil had his Pollio," says
Foote's poor author, " Horace his Maecenas, Martial his
'' Pliny ; but my protector is Mr. Yamp." And who
was Mr. Yamp that thus protected poor Master Cape ?
We will sketch him from the original before us, making
use of the master's touches.
You may hear him bragging of his protective powers,
as he first enters the scene. Let the reader now imagine
him in soliloquy or dialogue, as if listening to him from
pit or boxes. Old Yamp would not have kept a shop so
]ong at the Turnstile if he did not know how to be secret.
"\Yhy, in the year forty-five, when he was in the treason-
able way, he never squeaked. He never gave up but one
author in his life, and he was dying of consumption, so it
never came to a trial. Look at the other side of his
head ; cropped close I — bare as aboard ! — and for nothing
in the world but an innocent book of indecency, as he is
a Christian ! Oh ! the laws are very hard, very severe
upon his brotherhood. But gad so ! he must mind busi-
ness, though. Master Cape here, the author, must provide
him with three taking titles for these pamphlets, and let
him think of a pat Latin motto for the largest. Books
are like women ; to strike, they must be well dressed ;
fine feathers make fine birds ; a good paper, an elegant
type, a handsome motto, a catching title, has driven many
a dull treatise through three editions. Did any one here
know Harry Handy ? He was a pretty fellow : he had
392 MASTER CAPE THE WRITER. [Samuel
his Latin ad anguem, as they say : lie would have turned
you a fable of Dryden's or an epistle of Pope's into Latin
verse in a twinkHng : except Peter Hasty the voyage-
writer, he was as great a loss to the trade as any within
old Yamp's memory. He was hanged for clipping and
coining, but Yamp perhaps wasn't a loser by his death.
His execution made a noise, and sold the booksellers seven
hundred of his translations, besides his last dying speech
and confession ; and Yamp got that. For, Harry was
mindful of his friends in his last moments ; he was a
pretty fellow. About the spring, Mr. Yamp will deal with
Master Cape for a couple of volumes in octavo. Master
Cape knows what will do ? Novels, now, are a pretty
light summer reading, and do very well at Tunbridge,
Bristol, and the other watering-places ; no bad commodity,
neither, for the West-India trade ; so let 'em be novels.
Master Cape. No, the newspaper still hangs fire that
was to have been started by Yamp and Titlepage. It
promised uncommonly well. They got a young Cantab
for the essays, for the true intelligence they imported an
historian from Aberdeen, and they had made sure of an
attorney's clerk ; but it dropped for want of a politician.
Was there an opening in that capacity for Master Cape ?
*' No, thank you, master Cape," says Yamp ; " in half a
" year's time, I have a grandson of my own that will
" come in. He is now in training as a waiter at the
" Cocoa-tree Coffee-house ; I intend giving him the run
" of Jonathan's for three months, to understand trade and
" the funds, and tben I'll start him."
But, notwithstanding his work for old Yamp, Foote's
author. Master Cape, is a pretty fellow in a better than
either the Handy or the Hasty school. He is a gentle-
man. He refuses to defend a colonial government which
had proved highly profitable to its governor in everything
but good name (Lord Pigot had just published an immense
got-up quarto in defence of his administration in India),
because, he says, though he is the servant of the public, he
is not the prostitute of its masters, and, as he has never
dipped his pen into gall to gratify popular or private
resentments, its integrity shall not now be sacrificed to
palliate guilt or flatter pride. Yet to his pen he owes all
his subsistence. An honest fellow in the play says that
FoOte.'] MR. CADWALLADER. 393
his very heart bleeds for hira. ' Consider to what
' temptations he is exposed. Lack-a-day, learning, learn-
* ing, Sir, is no commodity for this market ; nothing
' makes money here. Sir, hit money, or some certain
* fashionable qualities that a good man would not wish
' to possess. Patron ! the word has lost its use. A
* guinea subscription at the request of a lady, whose
* chambermaid is acquainted with the author, is all that
* may now and then be picked up. Protectors ! why,
* one dares believe there's more money laid out upon
* Islington turnpike- road in a month, than upon all the
* learned men in Great Britain in seven years. "VYhere
* now are the Oxfords and Halifaxes ?'
And then Foote introduced Mr. Cadwallader, the part
which he played himself. Here was something in default
of the Oxfords or Halifaxes. Next to a peer Mr. Cad-
wallader honours a poet, though Mr. Cape was the first
he ever had in his house except the bellman for a
Christmas-box. His ruling passion is to know any
notable body, but otherwise he is made up of con-
trarieties. Pride and meanness contend for him one
minute, folly and archness the next. In one breath
he tells you, that he 'd have made an immense figure in
the learned world but for his cursed fool of a guardian's
neglect of his education ; and in the next, that the only
use of a school is, hey ! egad ! for children to make
acquaintances that may hereafter be useful to them,
" for between you and me what they learn there does
" not signify twopence.'' Always bragging of his pedi-
gree, he'll yet mix with anybody in his greed for noto-
riety ; and, claiming to take the wall of a prince of the
blood, may be seen eating fried sausages at the Mews-
gate. When, on the first night of the comedy, Foote
entered in this character, a great shout of surprise broke
forth at the completeness with which he had dropped his
own identity. He had dressed himself out very large, and
he 'came on with a broad unmeaning stare and an awkward
step, looking less encumbered with even corpulence than
with conceit, talking boisterously yet indistinctly, his voice
loud but incoherent, his head always in a restless fidget
to his left shoulder, his mouth constantly open as if to
recall some shrewdness or some folly he had not meant
394 THE ORIGINAL AND HIS DOUBLE. \SamUel
to say, and with a trick every now and then of sucking
his wrist with a sort of supping noise. But the laughing
cry of doubt whether it could be Foote, took a more
extravagant turn as the audience became unexpectedly
conscious of a figure looking on from the boxes at what
seemed a double of itself, and shaking with hearty fun at
Mr. Cadwallader's introduction of his wife :
"Oil ! lord, Mr. Cape, this is Becky ; my dear Becky, cliild, tliis is
a great poet — ah, but she does not know what that is— a little foolish
or so, but of a very good family — here, Becky, child, won't you ask
Mr. Cape to come and see you? Ecod, do. Cape, come and look at her
grotto and shells, and see what she has got. — Well, he'll come. Beck.
— Ecod, do, and she'll come to the third night of your tragedy, won't
you, Beck ? — isn't she a fine girl ? humour her a little, do ; — hey. Beck ;
he says you are as fine a woman as ever he — ecod who knows but he
may make a copy of verses on you ?— there, go and have a little chat
with her, talk any nonsense to her, no matter what ; she's a great fool,
and won't know the difference."
The living original of the character, Mr. Ap-Eice, a
Welshman of large fortune with whom Foote had been on
terms of intimacy, had actually and in sober truth gone
to see himself produced upon the stage by his quondam
guest ; and, says Davies, '' while loud bursts of laughter
" from the boxes repeatedly acknowledged the writer's
" and the actor's skill, the best of it was, that the gentle-
" man himself made one of the audience, enjoyed the
" jest very heartily, and applauded Mr. Foote for drawing
*' his portrait so admirably well.''
This Socratic state of mind, however, did not to the
last remain Mr. Ap-Rice's friend. The Author ran through
the rest of Garrick's season, and became greatly popular.
Kitty Olive's Becky was a companion picture to Foote's
Cadwallader, which in its kind, Horace Walpole says, the
stage had never equalled ; and both took the piece for
their benefit at the end of the season, Foote reviving on
the same night Dryden's Spanish Fryar and playing the
part of Gomez. Thus far, Mr. Ap-E,ice's philosophy had
not worn out. But when he found that the closing of
the theatre did not close the laugh against him, but that,
while Foote had carried his other self to Dublin, he could
never show his proper self in any public place, park,
assembly, or coffee-house, without loud whispers of Cad-
wallader ! and secret laughter and pointing, he laid aside
Foote.'] SUPPRESSION or the comedy. 895
the philosoplier, took counsel with, his friends, and, on
the wit's return and resumption of the part at Drury-lane,
after consulting Garrick whether or not he should fight
him,' finally resolved to move the powers of the Lord
Chamberlain against him. He was a man whose influence
corresponded to his wealth, and he succeeded. It is
curious enough that the prohibition of any futui^e per-
formance of the comedy, by the Duke of Devonshire,
reached Drury-lane on the morning of the night appointed
for Foote's benefit, when he and Kitty Clive were to have
appeared in Cadwallader and Becky, after acting Shylock
and Portia ; and though, in accounting for the enforced
change, he addressed the audience with great spirit against
the edict of the Chamberlain, of course it prevailed, and
the Author was suppressed.
The suppression was made the most of, by Footers
enemies ; but that even those who enforced the law took
no very grave view of the ofience, appeared in the same
Lord Chamberlain's concession to him soon after of a
licence for the Haymarket, and in the marked acknow-
ledgment made for that service in the dedication of his
comedy of the Minor. Here he describes the many gloomy
apprehensions inspired by the stage-licensing Act ; hints
at the wrongs the poor players expected from it ; and says
that when *' it& direction was lodged in the hands of a
" nobleman, whose ancestors had so successfully strug-
" gled for national liberty, they ceased to fear for their
" own." It was not from a patron of the liberal arts
they were to expect an oppressor, it was not from the
friend of freedom and of man they were to dread partial
monopolies or the establishment of petty tyrannies. And
he then thanks the Duke of Devonshire for having thrown
open, on the borders of Parnassus, a cottage for those who
had no ambition to enter its palaces. The first use he
made of this cottage was to furnish it with the Minor, the
original draft of which had already been played in Dublin
^ Garrick's advice gives us at mitted to Garrick, all he said was,
once a laughable idea of Mr. Ap- " My dear Sir, don't think of doing
Rice's size and eccentricity, and of " any such thing ; why, he would
Foote's quickness. Lord Holland *' shoot you through the guts before
told Mr. IMoore that when the pro- * ' you had supped two oysters off
priety of challenging Foote was sub- '* your wrist."
596 TATE WILKINSON. \_Samuel
with a reception so doubtful, that all liis friends warned
him against persisting in a satire that trenched on such
delicate ground. But he was not the man to run away
in fright at a hiss, which on that occasion told him nothing
more than that his blow was hitting and its aim was
true ; and making use of the failure, therefore, but as a
means to greater success, he strengthened the plot, intro-
duced new characters, and, on his return to London to
open his newly-licensed Haymarket, produced fearlessly
this masterpiece of wit.
But before describing it, some account of that visit to
Dublin should have mention, because Tate Wilkinson first
publicly appeared there with Foote. The son of a preacher
who had made himself very popular at the chapel of the
Savoy, and who, presuming on the supposed privilege of
the place, granted licences in defiance of the Marriage- act,
was transported for the ofi'ence, and had to leave his wife
and son to what charity they could find, — the lad had
long been oscillating between the playhouse and the meet-
inghouse, before Shuter picked him up one day at Whit-
field's tabernacle, and took him to Garrick. At the inter-
view he imitated Foote so cleverly, that the result was an
engagement of thirty shillings a week for small business
at Drury-lane ; but, by the same introduction on a day
not long after, he imitated Garrick to Foote with so much
greater efi'ect, that it produced an ofier to accompany the
latter to Dublin and take part in his own engagement.
And when, long years afterward, the old man wrote his
memoirs, he remembered with what eager joy, when the
time to go to Dublin came, he waited on Mr. Foote at
the Bedford ; and how, in one hour after, they set off in
a post-chaise, with Mr. Foote's servant on horseback;
and how they only travelled that night to his little cottage
at Elstree in Hertfordshire, though they afterwards tra-
velled together post to Holyhead ; and how, when Mr.
Foote overtook upon the road great people that he knew,
and who would have had him join them, he always de-
clined, and managed instead to be half a day before or
behind (" for," he says, " with all their politeness, they
" expect the best accommodation, or, if they offer you pre-
" ference, you cannot in policy or good manners accept
*^ it ") ; and how, finally, when they had embarked at
F00fe.~\ THE MIMIC OF THE MIMIC. 397
Holyhead, there was a great storm, and the cabin was
crowded, and poor young Tate was very ill, yet " Mr.
" Foote was well, and walking most of the night from
" place to place."
Truth to say, indeed, that little glimpse back into the
DubKn journey is one of the few passages in Tate Wilkin-
son's Memoirs or his Wandering Patentee, full as they are
of allusion to the great wit and mimic, where we find
anything characteristic or real. In the rest of the nine
volumes, little more is discoverable than the egregious
self-flattery of a vain old actor, who, even while his every
page bears unconscious admission that but for Foote his
own name could never have been heard of, is yet so be-
wildered with conceit and uncontrolled managerial ways,
that, in the man who had thus made him wholly what he
was, and on whose brains he lived all his life, he would but
querulously show you the mimic who could not endure
himself to be mimicked, and the author who never dis-
played enough gratitude to the actor who helped him by
his personations. It would be almost incredible that these
books should exhibit so few entertaining traces of long
years of intimate connexion with such a humourist as
Foote, but that it is with men of intellect as with the
world itself — they contain what you can find in them,
neither less nor more ; and a man who carries nothing of
the gentleman or the wit in himself, will quite vainly
attempt to hit ofi" a wit's or a gentleman's likeness.
Wilkinson never saw anything in Foote, but the sharp
high voice, the quick look and laugh, the comical strut
and scrape, the whimsical twitch of the chin, which he
found it so advantageous to imitate ; and Churchill,
impatient always of his brother satirist, struck at him
behind his shadow.
" Strange to relate, but wonderfully true,
That even shadows have their shadows too !
"With not a single comic power endued,
This man a mere mere mimic's mimic stood."
That occasionally, however, the mimickry of mimickry,
or the pretence to be a pretender, was found more pro-
fitable than his own calling even to the original mimic,
a curious and little known incident of this particular visit
398 TELLING FORTUNES. \_SamueI
to Dublin may serve to show. While lie was acting
before the public with Wilkinson in the theatre, he
appears to have been carrying on, out of sight of the
public but not less with their connivance, another kind
of acting equally profitable. A letter from Dublin, pub-
lished in the Gentleman's Magazine for 1758, is our autho-
rity for this odd adventure. " I suppose you have heard
" of the famous comedian Mr. Foote. He is in this
" town at this time, and he is a man of much humour.
" He took it into his head to take a private lodging in a
" remote part of the town, in order to set up the lucrative
" business of fortune-telling. After he had got his room
" hung with black, and his dark lantern, together with
" such people about him as knew the people of fashion in
" this great city, he gave out handbills, to let them know
" that there was a man to be met with at such a place
" who wrote down people's fortunes, without asking them
" any questions. As his room was quite dark (the light
" from his lantern excepted) he was in less danger of
" being discovered : so that he carried on the deception
" with great success for many days ; insomuch, that he is
" said to have cleared 30/. a day at 2s. 6d. a head."
There seems to be no room for doubt that Foote actually
did this ; and the readers of Edgeworth's Life will remem-
ber that Sir Francis Delaval had done the same thing in
London when supposed to be in hiding for debt, which
probably suggested it to his friend.
The " mimic mimicked " at the theatre, meanwhile, or
the spectacle of Foote taken off by Wilkinson, had proved
a considerable attraction in Dublin ; for though Foote
played Bayes, Sir Penurious, Fondle wife, Buck, and Cad-
wailader, he was in nothing more successful than in his
Tea with Wilkinson for his pupil ; and when the latter
unexpectedly threw in his imitation of the imitator, the
audience insisted on its repetition, and more than once,
notwithstanding Foote's well-understood dislike, com-
pelled Tea to be substituted for the entertainment offered
in the bills. The same popularity attended it at Drury-
lane, in the brief season which closed with the prohibition
of Mr. Cadwallader ; and when, after a successful trip to
Edinburgh, Foote returned with Wilkinson to the Irish
capital in the winter of 1759 -60, he played the round of
FoOfe.^ DUBLIN FAILURES AND SUCCESSES. 399
all liis parts with the addition of Shylock and Don Lewis
(in Love snakes a Man), and still found the Tea and the
Diversions most followed. But by this time his pupil's
head had been a little turned, and Mr. Wilkinson no
longer makes any attempt to conceal his surprise that Mr.
Foote should pass his time so exclusively with great people
while he is himself in a garret. The reception Foote
enjoyed, both at the Castle and at the first private tables,
is enlarged upon by Cooke also ; but besides his wit he
had other claims, for the Duke of Bedford was now Lord-
Lieutenant, and the Duke's jovial Mr. Bigby was Foote's
old friend, and to him were rehearsed the chief scenes of
the Minor before the attempt at its representation was
made. It failed, as we have said ; and Foote came over
to London in some ill-humour, with the shouts and hisses
of the conventicle in his ears ; but resolved to re-open
his battery against it, and to strike at Methodism in its
stronghold.
At the Bedford soon after, Murphy saw him, " dashing
" away at everybody and everything," and so describes
him to Garrick in a letter which hits ofP perhaps even
something of the manner of his conversational ridicule.
" Have you had good success in Dublin, Mr. Foote?"
" Pooh ! hang them. There was not a shilling in the
" country, except what the Duke of Bedford, and I, and
" Mr. Bigby, have brought away. Woodward is cater-
" wauling among 'em, and Barry like a wounded snake,
" and Mossop sprawling about his broken arms with the
" rising of the lights, &c." " But what of your comedy,
" Mr. Foote ? We hear you found it dangerous to
" ridicule what is said in a church ?" His answer may
be given in justice to himself, as a specimen of the kind
of reasoning in which he uniformly indulged; but the
reader will of course only take it valeat quantum.
" Why should I find it dangerous to ridicule what is
" said in a church," replied Foote, " if what is said there
" deserves ridicule ? Is not the crime the greater if
" you pick a pocket at church ; and is the additional
" reason why a man should not have done it, to be the
" only argument why he should not be punished for
" doing it ? You call profaneness an offence ; you will
" not have ignorant men idly invoke the name or the
400 WHITFIELD IN HIS PULPIT. [SamUcl
" attributes of the Supreme ; and may not I ridicule a
" fanatic whom I think mischie^'ous, because he is for
'' ever polluting that name with blasphemous associations,
" mixing with the highest the meanest and most trivial
" things, degrading Providence to every low and vulgar
" occasion of life, crying out that he is buffeted by Satan
'* if only bit by fleas, and, when able to catch them,
'* triumphing mth texts of Scripture over the blessing
" specially vouchsafed."
Manifest exaggeration might seem to be here indulged,
yet letters of Whitfield had then been published, beside
which even this is but tame satire ; and, perhaps not a
little for that very reason, the writer now ruled over
audiences greater than any that either Foote or Garrick
ever brought together. He had but lately edified twelve
thousand people on Hampton- common, assembled to see
a man hung in chains. At a vast collection of sports
and puppet-shows in Moorfields, in an area filled by
thirty thousand souls, his voice had been heard above
drummers and trumpeters, above players and wild beasts,
denouncing such idle and lying vanities. He, and his
cartloads of followers, had taken forcible possession of
the stage at country fairs ; and had scared whole villages
from their customary mirth, by invoking against it the
doom and the judgment. He stood by a worthless
criminal on the public scaffold, one Gibson, who after
condemnation had embraced Methodism, and he told
the thousands assembled to see him and another culprit
hanged, that only by abandoning their mirth and stage-
plays, and taking refuge from such temptations in the
Tabernacle, could they ever hope to go to heaven as
Gibson had done that day ; nay, as had even been the
happiness of the wretch hanged by his side, though but
for the virtue of having touched his garment. Beyond
all doubt we now know, what his contemporaries not so
certainly knew, that he was a sincere man, as he was
undoubtedly a man of extraordinary power ; and it is
not to be questioned that what the Pusey and Newman
agitation have been trying vainly, in our days, to effect for
the High Church, he really did effect for the Low,
making religion vital in the direction of Cahdnism ; but,
with every allowance for the excellence of his intention,
'F00te.'\ MR. SQUIXTUM ON THE STAGE. 401
and for the real good which in spite, or hy \drtue, of
his extravagance he effected, can we honestly approve of
the administering of such stimulants as these ? At the
Tabernacle itself, in Tottenham-court-road, his sermons
now offered daily and weekly dram- drinking such as
none of the theatres could provide ; and, in the crowds
that such stimulants excited, were found people of every
condition. The wealthy and the wise were there, as
well as the ignorant and the poor ; the low and infamous
in either sex, jostled against maids of honour and lords
of the bed-chamber : and *' among his frequent hearers,"
says Sir James Stephen, the most intelligent and admir-
ing of all the witnesses to his fame, " were Foote and
" Garrick, who brought away the characteristic and very
" just remark that his oratory was never at its full height
" till he had repeated a discourse forty times,"
But what Foote besides had brought away, was now to
be seen. Alluring as the subject might appear, very few
were the batteries of ridicule that had yet been opened
against Whitfield. The Chesterfields and "Walpoles con-
fined their scorn to their private letters, though Horace,
apprehensive of ** a reign of fanatics," would have had
the Church publicly '' fight and ridicule him ;" but even
the Church did not dare to do more than expel now and
then, from either University, a small batch of his ultra-
zealous young disciples. He was now to receive, how-
ever, the heaviest blow yet dealt to him. In an earlier
part of his career, he had paraded the humility with
which he took unresistingly over his shoulders the furious
lashes of a cart- whip, wielded by a merryandrew at Bar-
tholomew-fair; but the stripes inflicted by the Minor
on Mr. Squintum, were to leave deeper marks and a less
Christian temper.
The purpose and point of Foote's satire turned upon
those characters of notorious infamy whom Whitfield's
ill-regulated frenzy so rejoiced to send in ecstacies to
heaven. He desired to show how little surprising it was
that such preachers should have plenty of proselytes, who
had the advantage of so comfortably blending the interests,
hitherto jarring, of this world and of the world beyond ;
and he looked around him for the worst type of an
abominable hypocrite, who, tottering under the load of
403 CHARACTERS IN THE MINOR. [SamUel
irreverend age and infamous diseases, might yet liave
found encouragement at the Tabernacle, from its prostitu-
tion of holy texts to unholy use, to proceed inflexibly in
the practice of every vice with the safe assurance of land-
ing in heaven at last. And this he found in Mrs. Cole,
whom he introduces as still of the Piazza in Covent-garden,
but mortally altered of late years, poor gentlewoman, and
seductive now only in the direction of the Tabernacle,
whither she was yesterday heard to tempt one young man
to go along with her and be converted, by the bribe of a
book of hymns and a dram. For she is at last an edified
member of Mr. Squintum's congregation. She has
proved how true it is that all shall have their call, as the
dear man says, sooner or later. Eighteen years had she
lived in the Garden, comfortably and creditably, and,
though she says it herself, could have got bail any hour of
the day. Ay, eighteen years had she paid scot and lot
in the parish of St. Paul's, and during the whole time
nobody had said, Mrs Cole, why do you so? (Unless
twice that she was before Sir Thomas de Yeil, and three
times in the round-house.) It was a comfort after all to
think she had passed through the world with such credit
and character. The present heavenly change had been
wrought in her since her last visitation of the gout. Upon
her first fit, she began to have her doubts and her warn-
ings ; but she was lost in a labyrinth, and nobody to show
her the road. One time she thought of dying a Poman,
which is truly a comfortable communion enough for one
of her sort ; but it would not do. She went one summer
over to Boulogne to repent, and, would you believe it,
the bare-footed bald-pated beggars would not give her
absolution without she quitted her business !
These are but the most slight and most distant hints of
the satire, but they show its terrible and unsparing tone ;
and, not content with giving the character all the force it
could derive from his own acting, though with it he
doubled Mr. Smirk, he also spoke an Epilogue in the
character of Whitfield, whom he dressed at and imitated
to the life. The instant success was unexampled. After
the first night further opposition was quelled, and it ran
that season continuously through more than forty per-
formances. " I went two or three nights," says Tate
FoOte.'] APPEAL TO THE ARCHBISHOP. 403
Wilkinson, " but with, great difficulty got admittance, the
" crowds to see it were so numerous/^ The season having
closed, it was carried to Drury-lane, though not without a
determined effort there to intercept it by authority. " Did
" I tell you," writes Walpole to Montague, " that the
" Archbishop " (Thomas Seeker was then the primate)
*' tried to hinder the Minor from being played at Drury-
" lane ? For once the Duke of Devonshire was firm, and
" would only let him correct some passages ; and even of
" those the Duke has restored some. Foote says he will
" take out a license to preach Tam Cant against Tom
" Cant." An existing letter of the Lord Chamberlain's
confirms this, but shows that the Archbishop declined to
correct or alter any specific passages. *' His Grace," writes
the Duke from Chatsworth to Garrick, "would have
" authorised me to use his name to stop the Minor, but I
" got off from it." Then, after stating that he had sent
to Foote, through Mr. Pelham, a recommendation to alter
some passages liable to objection, he adds, " his Grace
'' would not point them out, so I think very little alter a-
" tion may do. This to yourself : let me hear what has
" passed." The real truth was, not only that the satire
was generally felt to be of a kind that under decorous
protest might be expected to do far more good than harm,
but that the most dignified and decorous of the protesters
were afraid of meddling with the satirist. When the
good-natured Seeker was afterwards asked why he had
not acted on the Lord Chamberlain's suggestion of alter-
ing any passages he disapproved, he quietly replied that
he had no wish to see an edition of the Minor announced
by the author as " corrected and prepared for the press by
" his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury."
Certain it is that such friends of Whitfield's as had the
courage to risk encounter with Foote, came off worsted
from the conflict. His Letter to the Reverend Author of
Remarks Critical and Christian on the Minor is a masterly
piece of controversial writing, which, if all his other works
had perished, would have shown his wit, sense, and scho-
larly feeling to be of a rare order. Every line tells.
Actors will find nowhere in the language a happier
defence of the stage ; and all scholars may admire the
learning and modesty with which, rejecting for himself
D D 2
404 ARISTOPHANES AT ETON. \Samuel
any comparisoii with Aristoplianes, he rehukes the inso-
lent ignorance which could find only mahce and barbarity
in such a writer and such an age. " That was the time
" when the Attic genius triumphed ; when its liberty was
" pure and virtuous ; when a citizen would have gone
" from a conference with Socrates to an oration by Demo-
" sthenes, and have closed his evening with the Electra of
" Sophocles, the Phaedra of Euripides, the moral scenes
" of Menander, or the sprightly comic music of Aristo-
" phanes.'' The exactness of his scholarship, at the same
time, must be admitted to be a little at fault here. The
Phaedra of Euripides startles us somewhat ; and if he
meant really that Socrates, Menander, and Demosthenes,
might have been heard by the same citizen in the same
day, he would have been mightily troubled to establish
that amazing proposition. But men whose scholarship
is undoubted have committed anachronisms of the same
description, and Cumberland, who was certainly a good
Grecian, makes a confusion nearly as great in the Greek
dream he narrates in the Observer. We have also been
assured, upon very high authority in this special matter,
that our faith in Foote's scholarship is no delusion.
With Barnard, the Provost of Eton, Foote was very
intimate ; and assisted him always in the private theatri-
cals which that worthy provost, who was extremely fond
of acting, used to get up in the Lodge. At these, several
of the collegers used to perform; and among the prominent
actors were Person and Goodall. Another great favourite
with Barnard at the time, for his acting propensities, was
a reverend old gentleman, Mr. H. Knapp, well-known in
living memory at Eton, and the father of a late lower
master there, whom Barnard would reward by inviting to
dinner to meet Foote, and who vividly remembered, and
would often imitate, the great wit and comedian on those
occasions performing scenes from Aristophanes, with sin-
gular cleverness, and in the original Greek.
But we have wandered a little from the defence of the
Minor, which, apart from the learning or ability displayed
in it, has other and high claims to consideration. What-
ever our modes of life, or our measure of scholarship,
may be, we should read stiU, with an interest practically
appealing to us all, the excellent argument of this pam-
FoOte,'] RIDICULE OF WHITFIELD DEFENDED. 405
phlet in favour of public amusements, and against the
zeal that would abolish them on the ground of occasional
excess. " What institution, human or divine," asks
Foote, " has not been perverted by bad men to bad pur-
" poses ? I wish we had not a notorious instance before
" us. Men have been drunk with ^Ahq : must then every
" vine be destroyed ? ReHgion has been made a cloak
" for debauchery and fraud : must we then extirpate
" all religion ? AYhile there are such cities in the
" world as London, amusements must be found out,
'' as occupation for the idle, and relaxation for the
" active. All that sound policy can do is, to take care
" that such only shall be established, as are, if not
" useful in their tendency, at least harmless in their
" consequence."
Of the scholarship and sense we have so highly praised,
the reader Tvill infer somewhat from even these brief
sentences ; and, by the parallel between Thespis in his
cart and "Whitfield in his (for in a cart, says Foote, " even
" though it be with a criminal at Tyburn, our reverend
" friend most likes to show off his abilities "), the wit
might to some extent be shown ; but our space will not
permit us to add more than Foote's retort upon his
reverend assailant for describing the Minor as a farce,
and " played as it is said by authority." " Authority," he
repeats, " ay, authority ! What ! do you suppose that I
" play, as you preach, upon my own authority ? No, Sir,
" religion turned into a farce is, by the constitution of
" this country, the only species of the drama that maybe
" exhibited for money without permission." His own
production he then vindicates from the contemptuous
designation. Comedy he defines to be, an exact repre-
sentation of the peculiar manners of that people among
whom it happens to be performed ; and he declares its
province to be, to punish folly as the State punishes crime,
by making its faithful ridicule of particular offenders an
example to the entire community. This, he continues,
he had aimed at, in the Minor; and believing its characters
to be not strained above the modesty of nature, nor the
treatment of them unsuitable or inconsistent, "it is
" not," he adds, " the extent, but the objects of a piece,
" that must establish its title ; a poem of one act may
406 ORIGINALS FOR SHERIDAN. [SamUel
" prove an excellent comedy, and a play of five a most
" execrable farce."
Foote was thoronglily justified in thns manfully speak-
ing of his work. Its three acts are worth almost any five
we know. Overflowing with wit and good writing, there
is also a serious and pathetic interest in them, as Holcroft
found when they supplied him with his plot for the
Deserted Daughter; and there is character in such
wonderful variety, that Sheridan was able to carry quietly
off from it (a liberty he often took with Foote) what was
then never missed out of its abundance. For who, not-
withstanding differences of appearance and race, can fail
to see hints of little Moses, and his friend Premium, m
that small wrinkled old fellow in a threadbare coat who
sits every morning, from twelve till two, in the left comer
of Lloyd's Coffee-house, and every evening, from five till
eight, under the clock of the Temple Exchange ? He is
little Transfer the broker. You may know him in a.
minute by his shamble, his withered face, his bit of
purple nose, his cautionary stammer, and sleek silver
head. He will dine and sup to any extent with you, and
after all not lend you a stiver. But he has a friend that
can lend, "a hard man. Master Loader," an unconscionable
dog, wanting so much for interest, and so much for
premium, and so much for insuring your life, and so
much for risk ; and when alPs done you must take part
of the money in money's worth, "ten casks of whale
" blubber, a large cargo of Dantzic dowlas, a curious
" 'sortment of Birmingham hafts and Whitney blankets
" for exportation, and a hundred tun of fine old hay, only
" damaged a little last winter for want of thatching."
And besides little Transfer, there is the brisk Mr. Smirk,
successor to that truly great man Mr. Prig, introduced
into Taste (''I remember they took him off at the play-
" house some time ago ; pleasant hut wrong.^ Public
" characters should not be sported with — they are
** sacred "), whom the Duchess of Dupe and all the great
^ Foote, as we have said, played the whimsical humour with which
Smirk as well as Mrs. Cole; and he gave these words — "pleasant
Lord Holland used to relate that, *' but wrong." It was as if he
according to the report of those were pointing the comment on his
who heard it, nothing could equal own life.
FoOte.'] SAM SHIFT THE LIXK-BOY. 407
people so condescendingly encouraged on his praiseworthy
attempt to fill the place of his jewel of a predecessor.
" Her grace indeed gave me great encouragement. I
** overheard her whisper to Lady Dy, Upon my word,
" Mr. Smirk does it very well. Yery well, indeed, Mr.
" Smirk, addressing herself to me."
Excellently worthy of mention, too, is Sam Shift the
mimic, who was indebted for his ultimate rise in life to a
greater mimic, but who dated his first experiences, mean-
while, from the Magpie and Horseshoe in Fetter-lane, and
his first knowledge of the world from thfe avenues of the
playhouse : where, leaning on his extinguished link, he
learned dexterity from pickpockets, connivance from
constables, politics and fashions from footmen, and the
art of making and breaking a promise from their masters.
" Here sirrah I light me across the kennel. I hope your
'^ honour will remember poor Jack ! You ragged rascal^
" I have no halfpence, Til pay you the next time I see you !
" But, lack-a-day. Sir, that time I saw as seldom as his
*' tradesmen." Yet the lad's merit, like his link, at last
threw a radiance around him, and he got to be a candle-
snufi'er at Drury-lane : till one night, as he discharged his
duties before the audience, he was hit with a crab- apple
in his right eye by a patriot gingerbread-baker from the
Borough, who would not suffer three dancers from Switzer-
land because he hated the French ; ' and from its effects
he was only relieved by the compassion of the greater
mimic just mentioned, a whimsical man who took him
into his service, and with whom he remained, till, thinking
himself nearly equal to his master, he made him one of
liis own bows and set up for himself. All which, Foote
designed for a laugh at Tate Wilkinson, who just before
had set up for himself at Covent-garden, on an engage-
ment expressly to imitate his old chief ; and, in Shift's
querulous complaining of the insufficiency of his rewards,
I An allusion to a riot at Drury- withdrawal of certain Swiss and
lane in November, 1755, when the Italian dancers, whom no persuasion
King went to see a spectacle on could induce them to believe as be-
which Grarrick had lavished a large longing to any nation but France,
expenditure, but from which the with which at the time we were at
audience, notwithstanding the war.
King's presence, insisted on the
408 CHARACTERISTICS OF TRUE COMEDY. [Samiiel
Foote's keen knowledge of cliaracter exactly anticipated,
by some lialf-century or so, the old man's revelations of
himself. " And what shall I get for my pains ? The old
" fellow here talks of making me easy for life. Easy !
^' And what does he mean by easy ? He'll make me an
" exciseman, I suppose, and so, with an ink-horn at my
" button -hole, and a taper switch in my hand, I shall run
" about gauging of beer barrels. No, that will never do."
Alas, that precisely what never would have done for Mr.
Shift, had to do, something less than thirty years later,
for Robei-t Bums, the greatest poet of that century !
To depict the most present life of the time, to catch
the living manners as they rose, was the uniform aim in
all these various characters. For, in what thus might be
called local or temporary, we have seen that Foote held
the entertainment and uses of Comedy to consist ; and,
though he did not always see quite clearly enough the
distinction between a portrait of which you must know
the features before you are interested in the likeness, and
one of which the features at once reveal their affinity to
what constitutes our interest in the whole family of man,
it is yet surprising with what skill he can sketch general
characteristics in particular forms, and show you the
passing society and manners of a period in seeming
simply to fix upon his canvas one or two of its isolated
figures. Nothing in this respect can be more admirable
or true than the family of the Wealthys in this little
comedy. You look at them as you would at a picture by
Hogarth.
You see the two prosperous and elderly brothers, Sir
William and Mr. Richard, suddenly finding a generation
that they understood not, growing up around them. In
or about the year when Mr. Richard dated his indentures,
the sleek crop-eared 'prentice used to dangle after his
mistress, with the great Bible under his arm, to St. Bride's
on a Sunday. He would bring home the text ; repeat
the divisions of the discourse ; diue at twelve ; and regale,
upon a gaudy day, with buns and beer at Islington or
Mile-end. But, now, the modern city lads are of a dif-
ferent metal. They have their gaming clubs in the
Garden, their little lodgings (the snug depositories of
their rusty swords and occasional bag- wigs), their horses
FoOte.^ THE FAMILY OF THE WEALTHYS. 409
for the turf, aye and their commissions of bankruptcy,
too, wlien they are not yet well out of their time. Often
do such doings shock the ears of Mr. Richard, in his
weekly travels from Cateaton-street to his boarded box at
Clapham ; and he has only to look in the direction of his
elder brother's home, to see the changes going forward
there. The Wealthys have now a baronetcy in the family ;
and nephew George, too fine for an apprentice forsooth,
must have the education of a gentleman. He must run
the gauntlet through a public school, where, at sixteen,
he practises more vices than he would otherwise have
heard of at sixt}^ Then he must be removed, in the
course of nature, to the University ; where, lest his morals
should accidentally be mended and his understanding im-
proved, he is fairly set free altogether fi'om the restraint
of the one, and the drudgery of the other, by the privileged
distinction of a silk gown and a velvet cap. He is then,
after a few more years, by the indulgence of a fond father
not blind to the benefits of travelling, enabled to enter the
society of London endowed with all proper gifts and graces.
By the Germans he has been well grounded in gaming and
gluttony, France has furnished him with fa^vning and
flattery, Italy has equipped him with caprioles and can-
tatas ; and thus accomplished, my young gentleman is
returned, with a cargo of cooks, flunkeys, barbers, and
fiddlesticks, to plunder the honest by non-payment of his
tradesmen, and to enrich the knave by discharging his
debts of honour. " 'Sdeath ! '' cries Mr. Wealthy,
" that a rascal who has picked your pockets shall have
" his plunder punctually paid, while the industrious
" mechanic who ministers to your very wants shall have
" his demand treated as insolent ! " Such was Foote's
forcible contrast of the old and new generation of trade,
in this masterly little comedy.
It was natural, that, after the Minor, Foote should
take higher rank as a writer, as well as a position of
greater influence with the public; and out of this,
Murphy did his best to draw some profit in the following
year, by inducing him to become joint-manager with
himself for a summer season at Drury-lane, where one of
the principal incidents was his production of the Liar.
This clever Httle piece, though less original than the
410 A LAUGH FOR GOLDSMITH. \SamUel
bulk of Ms writings, was better known down to a later
time than most of them, by the partiality of actors (while
yet the stage existed) to the part of young Wilding.
Comeille's Menteiir had already suggested Steele's Lying
Lover, and but for these Foote would hardly have handled
the subject. As usual, however, he contributed to it his
own freshness and originality; and in the course of it
there is a sketch of a Monthly Reviewer, which we please
ourselves by thinking must have given a hearty laugh to
Goldsmith. It is even possible indeed that the quarrel
with Griffiths and his wife, of which Foote could not fail
to have heard at Tom Davies's shop, may have suggested
the sketch of which it falls within our plan to subjoin a
brief outline. The Monthly Reviewer, when he first
makes his appearance in the Kttle comedy, is in the posi-
tion of a footman. His reviewing had brought him so
low, that they wanted him to turn player ; but whatever
might happen to him, he was determined not to bring a
disgrace upon his family, and so he resolved to turn foot-
man. But before he was a reviewer, his condition of life
had been greatly superior, seeing that he once sustained
the dignity of sub-preceptor to one of those cheap rural
academies with which the county of York was then
plentifully stocked. So early had the foul Dotheboys
system planted itself, which, in its full growth and most
abominable luxuriance, the genius of Dickens, among
other delights and services bestowed upon this generation,
uprooted and swept away. Recommended to the compiler
of the Monthly Review, the whole region of the helles
lettres falls at once under the dignified sub-preceptor of
Dotheboys. The excepted subjects are physics, divinity,
and mathematics, all which the compiler's ^dfe was en-
trusted with. But, within his own range, he is quite as de-
spotic as the old lady herself; and like another Aristarch,
deals out fame and damnation at pleasure. Condemn-
ing books he never reads; and applauding the fidelity
of translations, of the originals of which he understands
not a syllable ; all he has at any time to consider, are the
caprices and commands of his master and mistress. His
method is very concise. He copies the title-page of a
new book, never in the first instance going any further ;
and then, if ordered to praise it, he has at hand some ten
FoOte.'] A REHEARSAL AT BUBB DODINGTON's. 411
words or so, as " laudable design," " tappy arrangement,"
*' spirited language," " nervous sentiment," " elevation
*' of thought," " conclusive argument," wMch, scattered
through as many periods, effectually do the business:
whereas, if he is to decry, he has, equally ready and
serviceable, "unconnected," ''flat," "false," "illiberal
" stricture," " reprehensible," " unnatural," with which
having peppered the author, he soon rids his hands of the
work. It is a method which renders all subjects equal to
him. Plays or sermons, poetry or politics, music or mid-
wifery, it is the same thing. Nevertheless he is under
the necessity of adding that " notwithstanding what we
" say, people wiU judge for themselves." The melancholy
result is that his work hangs upon his hands ; and all he
can at last manage to get from his liberal employer, and
the learned old lady, is four shillings a-week and his
small beer.*
The other noticeable incident of the joint-management
at Drury-lane, besides the production of the Liar, was
that of Foote having consented, by way of a civil service
to some of his fashionable friends, to play for a fine and
very fastidious gentleman, son of the great Bentley, a
comedy called the Wishes, only noticeable now for the
vast fuss that was made about it. There was a sort of
private rehearsal of it, at Bubb Dodington's grand villa
on the Thames, which Foote superintended ; and where
the Parnassus was composed of Bubb himself, the two
Chief Justices, the author, his nephew Richard Cumber-
land, and Lord Bute ; on which occasion, apparently not
a little to Footers amazement, the author produced a most
prodigious prologue, wherein the flattery of the young
king and his favourite so egregiously transcended all safe
bounds, that not even the favourite's presence prevented
Footers quiet remark, " This is too strong." Horace
"Walpole, a great friend of Bentley's, describes the scene.
" The prologue concludes with young Augustus, and how
" much he excels the ancient one by the choice of his
" friend. Foote refused to act this prologue, and said it
" was too strong. Indeed ^ said Augustus's friend, I think
" it isr
^ For points of comparison only may refer to my Life and Times of
too lamentably close and exact, I Goldsmith, i. 101 — 124.
412 COMEDY OF THE PATRON. \_SamUel
Another description of wliat passed, we have from
Eichard Cumberland, who, after a laughable detail of
Bubb's lace, fatness, grandeur, and absurdity, says that he
saw Footers wicked wit indulging itself at expense of his
entertainers all the evening, as he afterwards indulged the
public in his comedy of the Patron. And as, in this ex-
cellent comedy, he had indeed turned to admirable use the
experience thus acquired, of what he called the ignorance
of pretenders to learning, and the parade and vanity of
their affected protectors, it ^vill most properly be described
here. He thought it the best comedy he had written, up
to the time of its production ; and undoubtedly it belongs,
with the Minor, to the higher order of his writings. Like
that piece, too, it was dedicated to the Lord Chamberlain
of the day, then the Earl Gower ; whom Foote as pointedly
thanks as he did his predecessor, for kindness rendered
without any of those attendant mortifications too often
experienced by much greater writers than himself from
much less men than his lordship, and whom he therefore
as truly rejoices to see at the head of the most popular
domain in the republic of letters, " a spot that has always
" been distinguished with affection, and cultivated with
" care, by every ruler the least attentive to either
" chastening the morals, polishing the manners, or,
" what is of equal importance, rationally amusing the
" leisure of the people."
The leading notion of the Patron, that to patronise bad
poets is to the full as pernicious as to neglect good ones,
is happily expressed in its hero. Sir Thomas Lofty.
Also the hero of fifty dedications, he is yet a tedious,
insipid, insufferable coxcomb. Without genius, judgment,
or generosity, he has been set up for his wealth alone, by
underling bards he feeds, and broken booksellers he bribes,
as a " sharp-judging Adriel, the muse's fiiend," himself a
muse. Eagerly he swallows their fulsome praise ; while
he affects not to claim it for himself, but for that hidden
genius he is ever labouring to discover in a dull unfa-
vourable age. Imagine him on the scene, surrounded by
these satellites, asking their leave, in such a dearth of
invention, to introduce to them a little smart satirical
epigram ; new, as he says, and prettily pointed ; a pro-
duction that he thinks even Martial himself would not
F00te?\^ SIR THOMAS LOFTY AXD HIS FRIEXDS. 413
have blushed to acknowledge. " His own ? " 0 fie, no !
sent him this morning anon}Tnously. It is wretched
rubbish ; but of course it is pronounced fine ! fine ! very
fine ! by Sir Tliomas's friends. It has, they protest, such
an ease and simplicity, a turn so unexpected and quick, a
satire so poignant ; to all which Sir Thomas replies, Yes,
he thinks it possesses, in an eminent degree, the three
great epigrammatical requisites, brevity, famiKarity, and
severity. And is he not, really now, himself the author ?
Ah, cry the flatterers, name ! name ! To which Lofty
loftily replies, the name is needless. So it is an acquisi-
tion to the republic of letters, any gentleman may claim
the merit that will. This hint is not lost on the chorus,
who protest thereupon that Sir Thomas is the great
manufacturer, and other poets but pedlars that hve by
retailing his wares. The idea finds favour in his eyes.
Why, he says, to pursue the metaphor, if Sir Thomas
Lofty \cere to call in his poetical debts, he certainly
believes there might be a good many bankrupts in the
Muse's Gazette. Not that Sir Thomas is poet only.
Science, as he is told by one of his obsequious fi'iends,
" science first saw the day with Socrates in the Attic
" porch ; her early years were spent with Tully in the
*' Tusculan shade ; but her ripe, maturer hours, she enjoys
" with Sir Thomas Lofty near Cavendish-square." And
so struck is he with that compliment (which he reaUy
thinks the most classical thing he ever heard), that as he
happens to have written a play (a chef-d'oeuvre) which is
about to be performed, he proceeds quite privately to
select, out of his faithful chorus, the particularly enthusi-
astic young friend who had uttered it, to father upon him
the entire credit of the play, with all its chances of suc-
cess or damnation ! " The subject will surprise you," he
observes to his startled victim. It is the story of Eobin-
son Crusoe. The whole fable, he assures him, is finely
conducted, and the character of Friday, qiialis ah inceptOy
nobly supported throughout.
As the young gentleman's, the play is accordingly pro-
duced ; and, chiefly by the help of the unwitting chorus,
damned ; whereupon Sir Thomas, with more than the un-
ruffled temper and equabihty of a Sir Fretful, encourages
his young friend under the disaster which he affects to
414 HINTS FOR SIR FRETFUL PLAGIARY. \_SamUel
consider wholly the youth's, and in no particular his
own. The public are blockheads; a tasteless, stupid,
ignorant tribe ; a man of genius deserves to be damned
who writes anything for them : but courage, dear Dick !
the principals will give you what the people refuse ; the
closet, the critics, the real judges, will do you that justice
the stage has denied. Print your play — '^ My play!
" Zounds, Sir, 'tis your own ! " " Speak lower, dear
" Dick ; be moderate, my good, dear lad ! "
All the details of this comedy are equally rich and
effective. In the entire acting drama we do not know a
succession of more telling points, for a true actor, than
the three scenes that deal with the failure of the play :
the first, in which Sir Thomas receives, act by act, the
account of its cold reception and gradual damnation, from
his footman, his coachman, and his tailor, whom he had
stationed in the theatre to witness it ; the second, in
which the troop of egregious flatterers who had so ful-
somely praised his trashy epigram, as extravagantly to
his face abuse his luckless comedy, in the same hope of
currying favour with him ; and the third, in which his
agony of fear under the threat of exposure compels him
at last to purchase silence from Dick, by the bribe of his
niece's hand. Compared with these, even Sheridan's Sir
Fretful is weak ; and Foote himself not only acted the
part every night, but also a characteristic Httle sketch
of an irascible West Indian, Sir Peter Pepperpot, which
he had brought in for the mere sake of an individual
portraiture it enabled him to give.
A sketch of a very different kind he had also introduced,
for a laugh at the Society of Antiquaries. It was playing
many fantastic tricks at the time, having recently obtained
its charter; and preparatory to a grander laugh at it,
which he soon after indulged in his Nabob, he made a
distinguished member of the body one of Miss Lofty's
lovers, much to the amazement of all who knew him.
For, though Mr. Martin Rust may pretend to be in love
with Miss JuHet Lofty, aU his friends are sure she 's too
modern for him by a couple of centuries. He likes no
heads, but upon coins. Married ! the mummy ! Why 'tis
not a fortnight ago since he was seen making love to the
figure without a nose in Somerset-gardens; he was caught
FoOle']. MR. MARTIN RUST F.S.A. ' 415
stroking the marble plaits of her gown, and was asked
if he wasn't ashamed to take such liberties with ladies
in public. The inconstant old scoundrel ! But the mys-
tery, after a little explanation, becomes a little less mys-
terious. We are told how it happened. Miss Juliet
met him at her uncle's : he was a little pleased with the
Greek of her profile ; on closer inquiry he found the
turn-up of her nose to exactly resemble the bust of the
Princess Poppsea ; and his business was done in an instant.
In favour of the tip of that nose, he offered carte blanche
for the rest of the figure ; and immediately resolved to
add Miss Juliet's charms to the catalogue of his capital
and curious collection. On the other hand, the young
lady wondered at his impudence in thinking to marry a
goddess, and made strenuous resistance thereto; but,
being in possession of her father's consent, he declined to
give her up, until it happily became necessary to give up
either her or a burnt bit of newspaper, the precious
remains of the very Number Forty-five of the North
Briton that was burnt at the Boyal Exchange, the edges
soiled by the link, but many of the letters exceedingly
legible : and he straightway resigned Juliet without a
moment's hesitation. As inimitably as Foote had written,
Weston played this part, and made it a gem of comic
acting as precious as the rarest and rustiest of the old
antiquary's coins.
Nor without some allusion to the underling bards and
broken booksellers, spawned from such patronage as
Lofty's, should we close our account of this comedy, so
justly a favourite with Foote himself. Mr. Dactyl and Mr.
Pufi", in the Patron, are another and even lower chapter
of the Yamps and Harry Handys, already celebrated in
the Author. Puff was a fellow, according to Mr. Dactyl's
account, that to him owed every shilling ; whose shop
was a shed in Moorfields, whose kitchen was a broken
pipkin of charcoal, whose bedchamber was under the
counter, and whose stock in trade was two odd volumes
of Swift, the Life of Moll Flanders with cuts, the Five
Senses printed and coloured by Overton, a few Classics
thumbed and blotted by the boys of the Charter-house,
and the trial of Dr. Sacheverel : until Mr. Dactyl set him
afloat with his Elizabeth Canning and his quack medi-
416 AUTHORS AND PUBLISHERS. [Samuel
cines, his powders for flatulent crudities, his lotions,
potions, and paste, all of which he invented. On the
other hand, according to Mr. Pufi", when he first knew
Dactyl, the rascal was a mere garretteer in Wine-ofiice-
court (where, by the way. Goldsmith at this moment
lived), furnishing paragraphs to the Farthing Post at
twelvepence a dozen ; from which Mr. Puff promoted him
to be collector of casualties to the Whitehall and St.
James's, which he soon lost by his laziness, for he never
brought them a robbery till the highwayman was going
to be hanged, a birth till the christening was over, or a
death till the hatchment was up. In spite whereof, Mr.
Puff had continued to give the fellow odd jobs at trans-
lations, which got him boiled beef and carrots at morn-
ings, and cold pudding and porter at night : only, for this
winter forsooth. Dactyl had got a little in flesh by being
puff to a playhouse. But the hungry days of vacation
will soon be back, and he'll be fawning and cringing again
like a lean dog in a butcher's shop before the counter of
his publisher, begging a bit of translation that Mr. Puff
won't buy: no, not if he could have it for twopence
a sheet.
The extraordinary frequency with which Foote intro-
duces matter of this kind into his comedies, leaves us at
least not doubtful of the view he took in regard to the
relations of literature and publishing in his day ; and we
may add that the distinction he is careful to mark, in
authorship, between the hack and the gentleman, he more
rarely recognises in the bookselling branch of the trade.
Only a couple of summers before the Fatron was acted, he
had introduced into his Orators, from which the threat of
an oak-stick was alone thought to have saved Johnson, a
publisher and printer of much consideration and dignity ;
an alderman in Ireland, and, though with but one leg, a
pompous person everywhere ; who had corresponded with
Swift, who still corresponded with Lord Chesterfield, who
was understood to have given advice privately to sundry
Lords Lieutenant, and who had a Journal of his own
through which he continued to give advice publicly to
Lords and Commoners in both kingdoms ; whose numer-
ous foibles had mightily amused Foote in all his visits to
DubHn, and who on a recent visit to London had himself
Foote.^ swift's george faulkner. 417
shown them off in such flourishing exuberance, that the
temptation to put him in a farce was no longer resistible.
Yet opinions differ stiU as to George Faulkner, and one
cannot quite make out whether or not his self-satisfied
and sleek exterior covered anything that fairly provoked
and justified satire. Cooke says that his peculiarities
were but trifling, and his manners unoffending; on
the other hand, Cumberland says that so extravagant
were they, and such his solemn intrepidity of egotism
and daring contempt of absurdity, that they fairly
outfaced even Foote's imitation, and set caricature at
defiance. This also is borne out by what Isaac Eeed
remarks, of his ludicrous affectation of wit and fine
society; and of his perpetual boastings, in the teeth
of every disadvantage of age, person, address, and
deficient leg, of lavish favours from the fair sex. Nor
can there be a doubt, we think, especially since Lord
Mahon's publication of suppressed passages in the let-
ters, that what in Lord Chesterfield had been taken
for an honest admiration of his sense, was after all
but a humorous liking for his absurdity. He makes
him his pleasant butt ; and is always laughing in his
face, for the enjoyment of his grave and unmisgiving
reception of it.
But, granting so much, the mere corporal infirmity
should have restrained the mimickry of Foote, who now
bodily transferred to the Haymarket, wooden leg and aU,
Alderman George Faulkner by the title of Mr. Peter
Paragraph. That he had thus selected for derision a
man with such a defect, the satirist too soon had cause
to lament ; but for the rest, we fear we must even say
with Mr. Smirk that it is pleasant if wrong, and certainly
we cannot wonder that Foote's Peter, a caricature of a
caricature, should largely have attracted crowds to laugh
at him. He comes on talking of his Journal, and how the
exact day of his departure from Dubhn had been recorded
in it ; and how he had been last week to visit a peer, for he
knows peers and peers know him. Quoth his Lordship,
" Mr. Paragraph, with respect to your journal, I would
" wish that your paper was whiter or your ink blacker."
Quoth Mr. Paragraph to the peer, by way of reply, '' I
" hope you will own there is enough for the money ; "
418 ORIGINAL OF PETER PARAGRAPH. [SamUcl
whereat his Lordship was pleased to laugh, it was such a
pretty repartee. Then you may hear him confessing to
those amorous glances exchanged with the daughter of Mr.
Vamp of the Turnstile, even before his first wife died ; and
describmg how, after the death of that estimable woman,
of whom he wrote a prodigious good character in his
Journal, the old scoundrel brought the courtship with Miss
Yamp to a standstill by playing him a slippery trick.
You see, as Yamp could give no money in hand, Mr.
Paragraph had agreed to take the girl's fortune in copies :
he was to have the Wit's Yade Mecum entire, four hun-
dred of News from the Invisible World in sheets, and all
that remained of Glanvil upon Witches, Hill's Bees, and
Bardana on Brewing, together with three-eighths of
Robinson Crusoe, and so much Balsam of Honey, a new
quack medicine which Yamp found very profitable. They
were also to go halves in the Cock-lane Ghost. But
here the hitch occurred. While Mr. Paragraph, and two
authors whom he had hired to ask questions of the ghost
at nine shillings a night, were taking notes of the rap-
pings and scratchings at the house of Mr. Parsons
himself, positively that old rascal Yamp had privately
printed off a thousand eighteenpenny scratchings,
entirely unauthorised . revelations of the spirit, purchased
of two Methodist preachers at the pubHc house over the
way!
All this of course was an avowed jest, and as such
harmless enough ; but the sting lay in Foote's amazing
imitation of Faulkner's pompous manner and ways, and in
the connexion of such absurd pretensions, and alleged
amorous propensities, with such ridiculous incidents
borrowed from the lowest class of the bookselhng fra-
ternity to which the Alderman belonged, as their worthless
publications, their copyright bargainings, and their money-
making by means of quack medicines. The piece in
which he was made to figure, as the reader perceives,
had for one of its designs that of ridiculing the spirit-
rappings of the Cock-lane Ghost. It was meant also to
laugh at the prevailing passion for oratory ; at the lectures
whereby old Sheridan was then professing to teach it to
the million ; and at the Robin Hood Society in which the
million, presided over by a baker, and including " law}'Crs'
F00te,~\ FAULKNER VERSUS FOOTE. 419
" clerks, petty tradesmen, and low mecliamcs," ' practised
it for themselves. Foote himself took the chair at the
debates so introduced upon the stage, and used to con-
vulse the audience by his references to his honourable
friend in the flannel nightcap, to the honourable gentleman
in the straps, and to the worthy member with the pewter
pot at his mouth. Among the actors of the Haymarket
company there was a sort of skeleton of a man for thin-
ness, and him he had always, on these occasions, dressed
in a coat that might have taken in the capacious Daniel
Lambert, the arms being enormously wide and the cuffs
covering his hands. A roar always burst forth when
Foote recurred (no matter how often) to this personage
as " the much respected gentleman in the sleeves."
Hardly had the Orators thus exhibited Mr. Paragraph,
however, when Lord Chesterfield hastened to tell George
Faulkner that Mr. Foote, who he believed had been one
of Greorge's symposium in London, was "taking him off"
in his new farce, and hadn't he better bring an action
against him ? For, says his Lordship, with the humour
he always passed off upon Faulkner for gravity, though
scrihere est agere was looked upon as too hard in the case
of Algernon Sydney, yet my Lord Coke in his incom-
parable JN^otes upon Littleton, my Lord Chief Justice
Hales in his Pleas of the Crown, my Lord Yaughan,
Salkeld, and in short all the greatest men of the law, do,
with their usual perspicuity and precision, lay it down
for law, that agere est agere; and this being exactly Mr.
Foote's casO; he, my Lord Chesterfield, shall hold himself
in readiness to receive any orders in the affair, for retain-
ing counsel, filing a bill of Faulkner -versus Foote, or
bringing a common action upon the case. JN'othing can
be greater fun than the letter, all through ; and the mis-
chievous old wit must have been amazed indeed when his
advice was taken seriously, when the case of Faulkner v.
Foote did actually appear in the Dublin law-courts, and
when Faulkner absolutely triumphed in a verdict, though
he got but nominal damages. However, he got himself
compared to the Greek philosopher whom the Greek wit
ridiculed, which was a feather in his cap ; and he made a
^ The Connoisseur of 28tli March 1754 so describes the Robin Hood.
E E 2
420 MATTHEW MUG AND MAJOR STURGEON. \_SamUel
great deal of money, first to last, by printing and selling
large numbers not only of the original libel, but of the
counsels' speeches at the trial ; and he received congratu-
lations from Lord Chesterfield for a victory, which the
divine Socrates had not influence enough to obtain at
Athens over Aristophanes, nor the Great Pompey at
E/Ome over the actor who had the insolence to abuse him.
Though, to be sure, the post of the very next day took a
letter from the same sarcastic old peer to the Bishop of
Waterford, only the other day published, rejoicing at
George having made his enemy his footstool, but profess-
ing amazement that their philosophical friend should not
have practised a noble contempt, instead of being so
irascible as to go to law !
^' Fear of Foote " had suppressed this passage, when the
letters to the Bishop were published. It was a feeling
prevalent through society, and not even temporarily
abated by Faulkner's unexpected legal success. Oppor-
tunity and leisure for reflection, doubtless for unavoidable
reproach, were soon perforce to visit Foote ; but certainly
his position was never so strong, or his influence so much
dreaded, as after the verdict of the Dublin jury against
him. A couple of months later he put jury, counsel,
judge and all, into a comic scene, and played it at the
Hajrmarket ; and in the same summer he gibbeted the
Duke of Newcastle, ex-premier of England (of whom it was
he who said the admirable thing, that the Duke appeared
always as if he had lost an hour in the morning and was
looking for it aD. day long), by the side of Justice Lamb,
fish- salesman and ex-mihtia-major of Acton, in Matthew
Mug and Major Sturgeon of the glorious Mayor of
Garrett.
Who has not enjoyed this farce more than half the
comedies he has seen ? Who has not been glad to accom-
pany the gallant and indefatigable Major in his marchings
and coimter-marchings, from Brentford to Ealing, from
Ealing to Acton, from Acton to Uxbridge ; dust flying,
sun scorching, men sweating? Who has not sympathised
with that undaunted heroism, which, though he entered
late upon the profession of arms, after his first campaign
in Bunhill-fields no more minded the noise of the guns
than a flea-bite? "Who has not mourned over liis lamented
FoOte.^ CHAUACTERS IN THE MAYOU OF GARRETT. 421
comrade Molassus, who fell on tlie field of Hounslow at
sight of a Smithfield drove of oxen, a victim to his zeal
in not pulhng off his spurs before he went into action ?
And, after another but not inferior fashion, how many are
the friends whom Jerry Sneak has propitiated ; who have
felt for, even while they laughed at, that chilled and
frightened little henpecked mortal, so yearning at home
for a bit of the brown, so anxious everywhere to be snug
and comfortable if he durst, so eager to tell you of the
roaring rare boys he meets at the Nag's-head ; always
smiling as if he would be friends with you upon any
terms, and the tears coming in his eyes because you will
not let him. And has not the too affable Matthew Mug
had his own way, too, ever since that summer-night at
the Haymarket, getting everybody's face between his
hands as he talks to them of the most trivial matters,
palavering and humbugging whomever he comes near ?
While, in Peter Primer the schoolmaster, have we not
cheerfully recognised what Mr. Heel-Tap found in him,
the man for our money, the man of learning, the man that
can lay down the law and is wise enough to puzzle the par-
son, the man that means to make the entire common folk
statesmen in time, and, as to the great people, swears as
how the miscarriages are all owing to their not learning to
read, and, if they will but once submit to be learned by him,
there's no knowing to what a pitch the nation might rise ?
For is not this the very man we honoured ourselves by
making chancellor four- and- twenty years ago ; by whose
help the nation has indeed risen since, in proportion as it
has submitted itself to be taught by him ; who, in the
great work of informing the people and reforming the
laws, labours stiU as if nothing were done while anything
remains to do ; and, in the evening of a life not less
visibly occupied with useful public service than in its
morning, can find leisure still to enjoy the wit and enter-
tainment of the Mayor of Garrett ? All praise to Lord
Brougham's good taste, for surely it is the best farce in
the world. Even dull Mr. William Whitehead, who on
reading it could see nothing but a " simple vulgar thing"
(as became a poet whom Foote was never tired of making
his butt for laughter), is obliged to admit, in writing of
its performance to his noble friends at Nuneham, that the
422 COMEDY OF THE COMMISSARY. \_Samuel
house was full, that there was a great deal of laughing,
and that he laughed loudly with the rest.^
Nor was the Commissary, with which he followed up
this success, unworthy of it. Here his aim was to ridicule
the successful commissaries and army contractors of the
Seven Years' War, who are exhibited accordingly in their
splendid houses, with every requisite for making them
gentlemen except the fact of their being by nature some-
thing else, bent upon undergoing all fashionable exercises,
but finding oratory, dancing, fencing, and riding the great
horse, wofully difficult, and groaning over the pains and
penalties of having to be gentlemen. In all this, he had
availed himself freely of Moliere : but apart from it, were
two characters entirely of his own invention, in one of
which he indulged an extravagant laugh at Dr. Arne,
whose eccentricities of person and manner made him easy
game ; and in the other exhibited a professional match-
maker and purveyor of foreign manufactures home-made,
a female dealer in the contraband whether of marriages or
merchandise, who cheated the customers whom it was her
business to help to cheat others, and who remains a pre-
sentment of the vices and follies of that day, too Hvely to
be omitted from the figures we have here sought to sketch
and reproduce out of the pages of its satirist and censor.
Let us introduce the reader, then, to Mrs. Mechlin.
Her agents must have genius and parts, for it is doubtful
if in the whole biUs of mortality there is so general and
extensive a dealer. She has plenty of customers, and for
kinds of commodities the most various. Nobody in the
liberty of Westminster Hves in more credit. The very
best of quality are not ashamed to visit her. She is
respected by her neighbours, punctual in her payments,
keeps regular hours, and is never absent from the Sunday
sermon. Nor is she at all given to lying, except, like
other tradesfolk, in the way of her business. She is the
commodious, convenient Mrs. Mechlin, at the sign of the
Star in the parish of St. Paul's. An enemy may say
that she carries about a greater cargo of contraband goods,
under her petticoats, than a Calais cutter ; that she trades
* MS letter to Lord Nuneham, 2 August 1763, communicated to me
by Mr. Cunningham.
FoOte.'] SKETCH OF MRS. JklECHLIN. 423
against the virtues of her sex ; that she cants, cozens,
lends money, takes pawns, and makes up matches not very-
creditable. Let the enemy say what he will. Mrs. Mechlin
only works too much, and earns but victuals and clothes :
more cost than worship, as she herself declares. Small
honest worship she gets, certainly ; and she has a hard
time of it to please people. The gentleman who has the
offer of ihQ Gloucestershire living prefers, forsooth, to
Kve a little longer on the fine keen air of his Cumberland
curacy, before he will marry the party who is offered as
the condition of his being inducted. Yet he has but a
rusty cassock ; and the living is a good fat one, mth a fine
Avoman for wife into the bargain ; and he has, moreover,
been told that a friend of the lady's will take the child off
his hands.' Truly he is squeamish ; but his wry faces
are not worth heeding, while there is a merchant's clerk
in the city, a comely young man, happy to become the
bridegroom for no greater matter than a small place in
the Custom-house, and the promise of the purchase-money
of the presentation. People might twit Mrs. Mechlin,
perhaps, about the rich old dowager of Devonshire-square ;
and she will not deny that it certainly teas an awkward
accident that she should, not meaning it, have introduced
the dowager's own son to the dowager as a young man
willing to wed her forty thousand in the four per cents
and her two houses at Hackney. Such accidents, how-
ever, will happen ; and as for Mrs. Loveit, she was
rightly served. Why didn't they add a clause to the
act to prevent the old from marrying clandestinely as
well as the young ? As to the profits of her trade, Mrs.
Mechlin does not deny that they are great ; but she has
to contend wdth a vast deal of rivalry from women of
fashion, who are constantly setting up for themselves in her
particular line ; and she has to undergo many other risks
and troubles. There is Mr. Paduasoy, w^ho manufactures
for her, in Spitalfields, foreign smuggled silks ; would you
believe that the man's wife was allowed to get hold of
certain pieces, wherein some vulgar Deputys' wives posi-
tively flaunted it at the Mansion-house before Mrs.
^ The reader may perhaps re- hanged, had married "foraconsi-
member that the macaroni parson, "deration" a mistress of Lord
Dr. Dodd, afterwards so deservedly Sandwich's.
424 CHARLES FOX AND THE MATCH-MAKER. \_SamUel
Mechlin had time to display them ! The result was, of
course, that another of his gown pieces could not be
smuggled for the whole six months following. So the
Spitalfields loom was to throw off, meanwhile, some
India handkerchiefs and light spring waistcoats from
Italy, but not another real Genoa velvet could be put in
hand. Perhaps even a fresh advertisement of the kind
of goods had become necessary, in which case Mr. Padua-
soy must write an anonymous letter to the Custom-
house and send a new batch of old silks to be seized.
Or they must get up a bonfire on the premises, to ensure
a fine paragraph in the papers, and thoroughly to inform
the public once more where smuggled goods could be had.
— Such were the resources, and such the character, of
Footers Mrs. Mechlin, general agent ; of whose business
some branches yet survive, we suspect, though the good
lady herself has been so long dead.
That her life was not a stage life merely, but that she
actually did exist in that day, on a more real stage than
the HajTuarket, we have but to open Walpole's letters to
prove. There is one where he relates to Lady Ossory one
of Charles Fox's ventures in match-making, in which we
surely catch veritable sight of her. Can it be other than
Mrs. Mechlin who has promised Charles a West Indian
fortune of 150,000/ ; and who puts off his eager expecta-
tion from time to time, on the ground now that the heiress
is not landed, now that she has the small-pox, and now
that she cannot abide a black man ? The proposition
could surely have originated only mth Mrs. Mechlin, that
Charles, before he sees her, should powder his bushy
black eyebrows. The only doubt that arises to us is, when
we are told that the matchmaker, to confirm her promise,
advances at last even part of the fortune ; but Walpole
explains this : " Some say," he continues, " an hundred
" and sixty, others three hundred pounds. But how was
" this to answer to the matron ? Why, by Mr. Fox's
" chariot being seen at her door. Her other dupes could
" not doubt of her interest, when the hopes of Britain
*' frequented her house." A more striking testimony to
the reality of Foote's satire could hardly have been given ;
for in truth this actual matchmaker of Walpole's, so far
from being the person we have just been supposing, did
FoOte.'] PROSPERITY AND POPULARITY. 425
not make her public entrance on the scone till nearly
nine years after Mrs. Mechlin's debut at the Haymarket,
when she appeared as one of those very ladies of fashion
of whom Mrs. Mechhn had made bitter complaint as
already in her day beginning to interfere with the profits
of her business. Mrs. Grieve' s scandal dates at the close
of 1773/ whereas the Commissary had been acted in the
summer of 1765.
Foote now stood at the highest point of his worldly
fortune. It seemed impossible, that, in the career he
had chosen, there could open to him anything beyond the
successes achieved. Never had such splendid seasons
rewarded him at the Haymarket as those in which the
Patron, the Mayor of Garrett, and the Commissary, were
produced, and never did his personal position appear more
enviable. In Paris, the preceding year, he had been not
the least prominent figure in the group of celebrated
Englishmen who thronged there at the declaration of
peace ; on his return, his popularity with various classes
of his countrymen could hardly be exceeded ; and in the
company of men of high rank and superior fortune, says
the elder Colman, he preserved always an easy and noble
independence. He had now enlarged both his town and
his country house ; he drove as good horses as any in the
Mall ; his dinners and wines were famous ; and he had
lately spent fifteen hundred pounds on a service of plate,
which he justified by remarking, truly enough, that the
money was more likely to continue with him in that form
than in one he could more conveniently melt down. Per-
haps no man's celebrity took so familiar as well as wide
a range. The very boys at Eton had him down to show
him about the college, and their Captain asked him by
way of reward to repeat to them the best of his sayings.^
^ Walpole's letter to Lady Ossory story, he cannot be said to express a
is dated the 18th November 1773 conviction on the subject. He adds
(vol. vi. 10-13, Ed. Cunningham ) ; that Foote introduced it, with some
and in subsequent letters he describes variations, in one of his pieces.
the lampoons and verses to which This we shall find to be the case,
the incident had given rise. There It was in the Cozeners ; a drama
appears to be no reasonable ground he produced after the scandal had
for doubt that something of the sort obtained sufficient currency to have
had occurred ; for, though Lord Hoi- become game for the satirist,
land professed not to believe the ^ Mr. Selwyn mentioned that
4:26 A VISIT TO LORD mexbokough's. \Samuel
It is to his credit to add that he always remembered
literature as his calling, and that its place should be first
in his regard. One night of the run of the Minor, when
peers had been sent away from the over- crowded theatre,
he put himself to grave inconvenience that he might get
Grray and Mason into a side-box. When a flippant fine
lady of his theatre complained of the humdrum man
Doctor Goldsmith was in the green-room, compared
with the figure he made in his poetry, he explained to
her, with most delicate wit, that the reason of it was that
the Muses were better companions than the Players. Yet
at the same time, Cooke tells us, at his dinners, where
his guests of rank and fashion were sure always to find
themselves among writers and actors, he never busied
himself less for the comfort of a poor player than for the
entertainment of a royal highness. Grilly Williams
describes, at this very time, the return of the King's
brother from the continent. " The Duke of York, on his
" arrival, went first to his mother, then to his Majesty,
" and directly from them to Mr. Foote."
Better for Mr. Foote, however, that he had not gone
to him ; for together they afterwards went on a visit to
Lord Mexborough's, and here, in hunting, he rode a too
spirited horse, was thrown, and received so severe a hurt
that his left leg had to be amputated. The story went
that he had his jest nevertheless, even under the knife of
the surgeon ; but his letters to Garrick tell a difi'erent
tale. He feels in all its bitterness the calamity that has
fallen upon him, the blow which has struck him in that
height of his prosperity. It is several weeks after the acci-
dent, yet he is still at Cannon-park ; and, notwithstand-
ing some flattery of appearances, is looking upon his hold
in life as depending on a very slender tenure.^ Yet he
Foote, having received much atten- " once saw a little .blackguard imp
lion from the Eton boys in showing " of a chimney-sweeper mounted on
him round the College, collected " a noble steed, prancing and cur-
them about him in the quadrangle, " vetting in all the pride and mag-
and said, " Now, young gentlemen, *' nificence of nature, —There, said I,
" what can I do for you to show you " goes Warburton on Shakespeare."
*' how much I am obliged to you ? " —Diary of a Lover of Literature,
** Tell us, Mr. Foote," said the by Thomas Green,
leader, "the best thinjj you ever ' These passages are worth ap-
"said." "Why," says Foote, "I pending: "Nothing can be more
Foote.'] ACCIDEKT IN THE HUNTING-FIELD. 427
can rejoice to hear of Hs friend's success in the Clandestine
Marriage, which Lady Stanhope had told him of the night
before ; and one can see that his heart is touched with a
gratitude to Garrick, which he finds it diificult to give
adequate expression to. He falls to praising his mfe,
and says from what he has seen, and all he has heard,
Garrick will have more to regret when either of them dies
than any man in the kingdom. And then, poor fellow,
he fears he has explained himself imperfectly. " I do
" not know whether the expression be clear in the last
" period but one, but I mean your separation, whichever
" occasions it — but in truth," he adds, " I am very weak,
" in pain, and can procure no sleep but by the aid of
" opiates. Oh ! it is incredible all that I have suffered."
Yet he hopes he may still be spared to express, in person,
some part of his thankfulness to dear Mr. Garrick for all
his attention and goodness.
While these letters thus display the real kindness of
heart that existed between these celebrated men, old
Lord Chesterfield was telling Faulkner, with eager satis-
faction, that Heaven had avenged his cause by punishing
his adversary in the part ofi'ending. The same thought
had of course occurred to the satirist himself. " Now I
" shall take off old Faulkner indeed to the life ! " was the
first remark he made, when what he had to suffer was
announced to him.
Such compensation for the suffering as the Duke of
York's influence with his brother could obtain, awaited
him when he left his sick-room. The King had granted
exclusively to him for life, at the Duke's instance, a royal
" generous and obliging, nor, I am "a proper object to excite those
' ' sure, at the same time would be * ' emotions which can only be pro-
" more beneficial to me, than your " duced from vacant minds, dis-
" offers of assistance for my hovel " charged of every melancholy or
*' in the Haymarket ; but the stage " pensive taint ? I am greatly
" to me at present is a very distant " obliged to Mr. Colman for his
''object, for, notwithstanding all " friendly feelings on my late me-
*' the flattery of appearances, I look " lancholy accident. I am no
*' upon my hold in life to depend on " stranger to his philanthropy, nor
" a very slender tenure ; and be- " to how easily he has adopted one
"sides, admitting the best that can "of the finest sentiments in his
" happen, Is a mutilated man, a " favourite author ; Homo sum,
" miserable instance of the weak- " et humani nihil a me alicnum
*' ness and frailty of human nature, " jmto."
428 MIRTH AND MELANCHOLY. \SamUel
patent for performances at tlie Haymarket, from the 14th
of May to the 14th of September in ^ every year. It
enabled him to do what he had long desired. He almost
entirely rebuilt the theatre, erected a handsome new
front to it, and opened it, a year and a half after his acci-
dent, in May 1767, with a Frelude of infinite humour and
wit, and with a cheerfulness to all seeming undiminished.
He played during the season, too, several of his favourite
parts ; as well as that capital tragedy for warm weather
which reached him anonymously from Dodsley's shop
(and remains to this day anonymous), with the title of
The Tailors. Yet it took no very piercing glance to discover
the change the man had undergone.' With all his high
comic humour, says an actor who watched him nightly,
one could not help pitying him as he stood upon his one
leg, leaning against the wall, while his servant was putting
on his false stage-leg, with shoe and stocking, and fasten-
ing it to the stump: — he looked very sorrowful: — but,
instantly resuming all his fun and mirth, he hobbled
forward, entered the scene, and gave the audience what
they expected, their plenty of laugh and delight.
And without intermission he supplied this, replenished
yearly from his own stores of invention, until 1776.
There are few such examples on record. I^ine original
dramas, of which eight were three- act comedies, formed
the produce of his literary labour in the same number of
years ; interrupted as these were by visits to Dublin and
Edinburgh, and occupied as they always were with the
anxieties of management, with the toil of acting almost
every other night, and with many intervals of sickness and
pain, of which they bear no trace. In character they are
to the full as admirable as any we have described, and in
wit as lively ; as hasty in the management of plot, but as
prompt and pointed in their keen and rapid satire ; and
they have all the perfection of unsuperlluous dialogue,
the natural minutia) of expression, the quick clear talk of
^ This appears even in the letter by acting two nights successively to
which he at once wrote off to Tate strengthen Barry's engagement at
Wilkinson on receiving the Tailors, his theatre. But he is better, and
full of expectation as to the hit it signs himself as much his friend's as
would make. He had not been well, ever *' except the trifle of a leg."
he says. He had injured himself
Foote.']
DISPUTES OF DOCTORS RIDICULED.
429
real life, in which we hold Foote's writings to he incom-
parahle. Among them were the Devil on Two Sticks, the
Lame Lover, the Afaid of Bath, the Nabob, the Bankrupt,
the Cozeners, and the Capuchin.
Not the least masterly or successful was that with
which he resumed his pen, the Devil on Two Sticks ; in
which the satire, too, was unusually genial. It was fair
game to laugh as he did, and as Moliere had already
done, at the disputes and mal-practices of doctors ; ^ to
make fun of even the good Doctor Brocklesby's eagerness
for high-seasoned political news; and to hit at Mrs.
Macauley through her disciple Mrs. Margaret Maxwell,
who threatens to niche her brother into the great repub-
lican history of the day, wherein she promises him, though
perhaps too late for the historical text, that he shall be
soundly swinged in the marginal notes.^ His last comedy
^ Let us endeavour to give some
notion, very briefly, of the general
conclusions of Foote' s satire as to
this matter of the pi-actlce of physic
in his day, which in so many forms
and special cases he satirised. Ac-
cording to him, you will find it, in
some of its professors, a science,
noble, salutary, and liberal ; but, in
too many others, a trade as mean as
it is mercenary, practised by a con-
temptible combination of dunces,
nurses, and apothecaries. The spirit
of discord prevails. The republic of
tied periwigs, like the Romans of
old, had turned their arms from
the rest of mankind to draw their
short swords on themselves. To
carry on the metaphor, his charac-
ters exhibit to us, in this great
town, two corps of such troops
armed with deadly weapons, equally
numerous and equally formidable.
The first are disciplined, and fight
under a general whom they christen
a president. The second contains
the hussars and pandours of physic,
and rarely attack a patient together
— not but that, single handed, they
can do good execution. But the
contention with each other is per-
petual, and the main cause is pride.
The light irregular troops are jealous
of some honours which the others
possess by prescription, and though
but a militia they think they have
a right to equal rank with the regu-
lars. And so the strife goes on.
Foote's dramatic picture of the me-
dical profession, in short, is alto-
gether in the manner of Moliere ;
and Dr. Last's examination before
the College of Physicians, with all
its comic exaggeration, is a para-
phrase of the final scene of the Ma-
lade Imaginaire. Of course it is
needless to add how great, in this
latter respect, and with reference
to all chances of malpractice, have
been modern changes, and how
much thereby such chances are les-
sened ; but it is not very pleasing
to have to add, that the disputes in
the profession, and the apparent
difficulty of bi-inging them to any
point of satisfactory agreement, re-
main to the present day pretty
much as they were in the days of
Foote.
2 The reader of Horace Walpole's
letters need not be reminded that
Mrs. Macauley was a notable figure
in her day ; that she got a thousand
pounds a volume for her history ;
that she had a finely fumivshed house
in Bferners-street with servants in
430 THE DEVIL ON TWO STICKS. \_Samuel
before his illness, as we have seen, was the Comnmmry,
also partly borrowed from Moliere, but in which he had
indulged a bitterness of (quite unwarrantable) personal
ridicule against Doctor Arne which makes the contrast of
the Devil on Two Sticks more striking. One hears, with
no surprise, that every one took it good-humouredly ; —
that Mrs. Macauley, going to see it represented and
figuring herself a Socrates in this particular, sat side
by side mth Horace Walpole, when, after unsuccessful
attempts to get places for himself, he was fain to be con-
tent with admittance to his niece Cholmondeley's box ; —
and that, from another full-length figure in the piece. Sir
William Browne of the College of Physicians, Foote,
who had hit him off to his identical wig and coat, his
angular figure, and his glass stifily applied to his eye,
received pleasant intimation that his portrait was inexact
in only one particiilar, and, as he had omitted the Pre-
sident's muff, Sir William begged to forward his own. Of
the rest of the satire we shall perhaps intimate enough if
we mention little Apozem the apothecary, who so admires a
slow fever, especially if it be nervous, and with a lovely
dejection of spirits. It was he who was following a
funeral once into St. George's (a " sweet pretty burying,
" velvet pall, hatbands and gloves "), when, who should be
standing in the porch but Kit Cabbage the tailor, with a
new pair of breeches under his arm. " Servant, Master
" Apozem," says he, " what, you are carrying home
" your work too, I see ? " Zoffany, who had already
painted a fine Major Sturgeon, produced one of his
masterpieces in a scene of this play. Foote bequeathed
it to Mr. Fitzherbert, and it is now in the collection of
Lord Carlisle.
laced liveries, where she received England "that we have had yet."
and treated cleverly and elegantly, I may add that one of the pamphlets
with the air of a princess ; and that she published, had the unhappily
(such was her vogue with some chosen title of * ' Loose Thoughts "
classes of admirers) the incumbent prefixed to the subject of which it
of Wallbrook set up a statue to her, treated ; and, this being made mat-
while she yet lived, in the chancel ter of objection in Foote's presence,
of his church. Horace himself is he drily remarked that he did not
glad to have Gray's opinion, from himself see any objection to it, for
Mann, to corroborate his own, that that the sooner Mrs. Macauley got
Mrs. Macauley' s is the most sensi- rid of such thoughts the better.
ble, unaffected, and best history of
Foote.']
HOBSON VERSUS XOBSOX.
431
The Lame Lover followed, and was not inferior in wit,
in success, or in the propriety of its satire. He had
nowhere played off so grand a battery against the law.'
Serjeant Circuit's initiation of Son Jack, in the mysteries
of legal iniquity, could only have proceeded fi^om a master
in the art ; and the arguments in Hobson and Nobson are
immortal.^ Here, too, as in the Knights he had laughed
1 Foote' s jokes against attorneys
would fill a volume ; but space may-
be spared for the grave communica-
tion he made to a simple countiy
farmer who had just buried a rich
relation, an attorney, and who was
complaining to him of the very great
expenses of a country funeral, in re-
spect to carriages, hatbands, scarves,
&c. " Why, do you bury your
"attorneys here!" asked Foote.
" Yes, to be sure we do : how
** else ?" — "Oh! we never do that in
* ' London." " No ! " said the other,
much surprised, "how do you ma-
"nage?" — "Why, when the pa-
" tient happens to die, we lay
' ' him out in a room over night by
" himself, lock the door, throw open
* ' the sash, and in the morning he
"is entirely off." — "Indeed !" said
the other with amazement, "what
" becomes of him?" " Why, that
"we cannot exactly tell; all we
" know is, there's 2k strong smell of
" brimstone in the room the next
" morning y
■^ No case in the books has better
claim than this to survive, and to
carry down to other generations its
record of absurdities practised in
our Law Courts, that might other-
wise have exceeded human belief.
We must enrich our note with the
leading arguments. The object of
litigation was a small parcel of land,
which was to decide the fate of a
borough ; and, to bring matters to
a short issue, it was agreed that
Nobson should, on the premises, cut
down a tree, and Hobson bring his
action of damages. Before going
into Court it had also been agreed,
that to be regular, and provide for
fresh causes, no notice was to be
taken of the borough and lands, the
real objects in view, but both sides
were to stick fast to the tree, which
was of no importance at all. And
so the plaintiff's counsel began.
" Gentlemen of the jury, — I am in
' ' this cause counsel for Hobson, the
" plaintiff. The action is brought
" against Nebuchadonezer Nobson,
' ' that he the said Nobson did cut
" down a tree, value two-pence, and
" to his own use said tree did
" convert. Nobson justifies, and
' ' claims tree as his tree. We will,
"gentlemen, first state the probable
*' evidence, and then come to the
" positive. And first as to the pro-
" bable. When was this tree here
" belonging to Hobson, and claimed
"by Nobson, cut down? Was it
' ' cut down publicly in the day, in
" the face of the sun, men, women,
" and children, all the world look-
* * ing on ? No ; it was cut down
' ' privately, in the night, in a dark
"night, nobody did see, nobody
^' could see. Hum. And then with
" respect and regard to this tree, I
" am instructed to say, gentlemen,
" it was a beautiful, an ornamental
"tree to the spot where it grew.
" Now, can it be thought, that any
' ' man would come for to go in the
" middle of the night, nobody seeing,
" nobody did see, nobody could see,
" and cut down a tree, which tree
" was an ornamental tree, if tree
* ' had been his tree ? Certainly not.
" And again, gentlemen, we more-
* * over insist, that this tree was not
' ' only ornamental to the spot where
" it grew, but it was a useful tree
" to the owner : it was a plum-tree,
' ' and not only a plum-tree, but I
* ' am authorized to say the best of
433
LAME LOVER AND BANKRUPT.
\_Samuel
at the fine ladies running away witli footmen (whicli Lady
Harriot Wentworth had just done), he ridiculed footmen
and maids aping fine ladies and gentlemen. Serjeant
Circuit's servants get up a private play, like the quality,
which they call the Distrustful Mother ; and in another form
the same subject is continued in the Bankrupt ^ where Sir
James Biddulph's man finds riddles too low a species of
writing for him, but confesses he has now and then some
dealings with Noble (the then publisher of fashionable
novels, whose fixed price was ten pounds for a story in a
couple of volumes), and has in hand a genteel comedy of
" plum-trees, it was adamsin plum.
* ' Now, can it be thought, that any
** man would come for to go, in the
" middle of the night, nobody see-
* ' ing, nobody did see, nobody could
'* see, and cut down a tree ; which
' ' tree was not only an ornamental
" tree, but a useful tree ; and not
'* only a useful tree, but a plum-
** tree ; and not only a plum-tree,
" but the best of plum-trees, a
* ' damsin plum ? Most assuredly
" not. If so be, then, that this be
" so, and so it most certainly
*' is, I apprehend no doubt will re-
" main with the Court, but my
' ' client a verdict will have, with
'* full costs of suit, in such a man-
" ner and so forth, as may never-
" theless appear notwithstanding."
To which, with not inferior elo-
quence, pertinence, and plainness,
the counsel for Nobson replies.
*' Gentlemen of the jury, — I am in
** this cause counsel for Nobson, for
*' Nebuchadonezer Nobson. I shan't,
** gentlemen, upon this occasion,
" attempt to move your passions,
" by flowing periods, and rhetorical
*' flowers, as Mr. Serjeant has done.
* ' No, gentlemen, if I get at your
'* hearts, I will make my way
* ' through your heads, however thick
*' they may be — in order to which, I
* ' will pursue the learned gentleman
"through what he calls his pro-
* ' bable proofs. And first as to this
" tree's being cut down in the night.
*' In part we will grant him that
' ' point, but, under favour, not a
** dark night, Mr. Serjeant ; no,
' ' quite the reverse, we can prove
*' that the moon shone bright, with
' * uncommon lustre that night. So
" that, if so be, as how people
' ' did not see, that was none of our
" faults, they might have looked on
" and seen, if they would. And
*' then, as to this beautiful tree,
" with which Mr. Serjeant has
' ' ornamented his spot. No, gen-
' ' tlemen, no such matter at all ; I
" am instructed to say quite the
" reverse ; a stunted tree, a
* ' blighted blasted tree ; a tree not
" only limbless, and leafless, but
' ' very near lifeless ; that was the
" true state of the tree. And then
"as to its use, we own it was a
" plum-tree, indeed, but not of the
" kind Mr. Serjeant sets forth, a
" damsin plum ; our proofs say
* ' loudly a bull plum ; but if so be
" and it had been a damsin plum,
' ' will any man go for to say, that a
" damsin plum is the best kind of
' ' plum ? not a whit. I take upon
"me to say, it is not a noun sub-
" stantive plum. With plenty of
" sugar it does pretty well, indeed,
" in a tart ; but to eat it by itself,
" will Mr. Serjeant go to compare
" it with the queen-mother, the
" padrigons — " At which critical
point in the proceedings, the elo-
quent counsel, who have mean-
while been subjected to sundry
dramatic interruptions, are swept
off fairly into the plot of ^^^e
comedy.
FoCte-l CHARACTER OF SIR LUKE LIMP. 433
one act which is thought to have a good deal of merit,
but the managers have really become such scribblers
themselves that they won't give genius fair play. But the
hero of the Lame Lover, Sir Luke Limp himself, was its
great strength. Here he laughed at Prince Boothby, so
called for his love of rank, whose mother, believed to have
been Fielding's Sophia Western, was one of his own
greatest admirers; and it was here also he put what
cheerful face he could on his misfortune, and represented
his own stump as he had represented Faulkner's.
We must give the reader, however, a nearer glimpse of
Sir Luke, so identified on the scene with Foote himself.
As he enters, he fires o£P such an artillery of jokes on his
own infirmity, that the audience, put thoroughly at their
ease with his one leg, can but laugh their assent when,
pronouncing two to be a sheer redundancy, he asks if
they don't think he'd refuse to change with Bill Spindle
for one of his drumsticks, or chop with Lord Lumber
for both of his logs. That he has carved out a good
morning's work for his single limb, is certain. He has
positively a thousand things to do for half a million of
people. He has promised to procure a husband for Lady
Cicely Sulky, and to match a coach-horse for Brigadier
Whip. After that, he has to run into the city to borrow
a thousand for young At- all at Almack's ; he has to send
a Cheshire cheese, by the stage, to Sir Timothy Tankard
in Suffolk ; and he has to get at the Heralds'-ofiice a coat
of arms to clap on the coach of Billy Bengal, a nabob
newly arrived. That is the way with Sir Luke. He is one
of those eternally busy men who can busy themselves with
everything but their own affairs. But now a servant
enters and delivers him a card. Sir Luke reads. " Sir
*' Gregory Goose desires the honour of Sir Luke Limp's
" company to dine. An answer is desired." Gadso ! a
little unlucky. He has been engaged this three weeks to
Alderman Turtle. But then some one remarks that Sir
Gregory is just returned for the corporation of Fleesum.
Is he so ? Oh, oh ! That alters the case. He sends his
compliments to Sir Gregory, and will certainly go and dine
there ; and he sends his regrets to the Alderman in Thread-
needle- street, sorry can't wait upon him, but confined to
bed two days wdth new influenza. Soon after, another
431 RANK-WORSHIP LAUGHED AT. \SamUel
servant interrupts Sir Luke with another letter. It is an
invitation from the Earl of Brentford. " Taste for music
" — Monsieur Duport — fail — dinner upon table at 5.^' Irre-
sistible this : and accordingly messenger is sent scampering
after Sir Gregory's servant to tell him, quite in despair,
an engagement recollected that can't in nature be missed.
Not that he prefers a lord to a knight. No, there you
are mistaken. Oh no ; hang it, no : it is not for the title ;
but to tell you the truth, Brentford has more wit than any
man in the world, and it is the wit that makes Sir Luke so
fond of the house. At this moment, however, in comes a
servant abruptly, running against Sir Luke as he is leaving
the stage, and bringing news that a Duke is waiting
at the door — ^his Grace himself, in his own coach — and
would be glad of Sir Luke's company to go into the City
and take a dinner at Dolly's. What ! his own coach with
the coronets ? There is no possibility of withstanding that.
Joe must run at once to Sir Gregory Goose's ; no, he is
already gone to Alderman Turtle's ; well, then, let this man
step to the knight's — hey ! — no — he must go to my lord's —
hold, hold, no — Sir Luke has it ! Step first to Sir Greg's
— then pop in at Lord Brentford's, just as the company
are going to dinner— say anything — that Sir Luke's uncle
from Epsom — no, that won't do, for he knows nobody
cares a farthing for him — hey ! — " Why tell him," cries
Sir Luke, " hold, I have it — tell him, that as I was going
" into my chair to obey his commands, I was arrested by
" a couple of bailiffs, forced into a hackney coach, and
" carried to the Pied Bull in the Borough. I beg ten
" thousand pardons for making his Grace wait, but his
" Grace knows my misfor ." You hear the sentence
indistinctly finished at the street door, for Sir Luke has
stumped off, in all haste and without leavetaking, towards
the carriage with the coronets. The character was, and
we regret to say continues in some abundance to be, fair
game for satire ; and Foote entered into it with singular
relish, and played it inimitably. His own withers were
unwrung. He had himself at least nothing of the flunkey
among his faults or vices. He had formerly ridiculed
dedications to the great, by selecting his bookseller for one
of the earliest of such offerings ; because, apart from good
paper and good priiit, he protested he owed no obligations
F00te.~\ COMEDY OF THE MAID OF BATH. 435
in connexion with his writings to any one in the country,
and meant to take good care not to stand in need of
patronage. Nor did he at any time afterwards indulge in
dedication, except as the frank and manly acknowledg-
ment of kindness done.
Less allowable than the satire of the Lame Lover, was
that of the Maid of Bath in ridicule of the miser Long
(Miss Tylney's Mr. Long), and his alleged conduct to
Miss Linley. For, though ]Mr. Moore's account of the
affair is upon the face of it ridiculous, and it is understood
that the reparation made was greatly induced by Footers
exposure, which Garrick would surely not have coun-
tenanced by a prologue if he had not known it to have
been in no small degree provoked, the subject was of too
private a nature for this kind of public handling, and the
piece illustrates nothing now so forcibly as the grave
mistake its writer too often made in giving such direction
to his wit. Nevertheless its local portraiture of Bath,
with its residents and \dsitors, its punch-drinkers, port-
drinkers, and claret- clubs, its ancient rakes and sharking
dowagers, is as good as the scenes of Scott's St. Ronan's
Well ; and, pleasant if wrong, is its old, fusty, shabby,
shuffling, money -loving, water- diinking, mii'th- marring,
amorous old hunks of a hero, Solomon Flint, who brings
down to marry him (this was a hit at Home Tooke) a
parson who is a prodigious patriot, and a great politician
to boot, but whose greater merit to Mr. Flint is, that he
has left behind him at Paris a choice collection of curious
rich clothes which he had promised to sell him a penn'orth.
Richard Cumberland and Garrick together visited Foote
on the eve of the production of this comedy, walked with
him in his garden, heard him read some of its roughly-
sketched scenes, enjoyed a good dinner with him, to which
he had pressed them to stay, and were treated to super-
lative wine. Foote lived at the time at Parson's Green ;
but the country-house he was most partial to, and occupied
for the greater part of his life, was at North-End.
After the Maid of Bath came the Nabob, and who needs
to describe its hero after Mr. Macaulay's description of him,
dissolute, ungenerous, t\Tannical, ashamed of the humble
friends of his youth, hating the aristocracy yet childishly
eager to be numbered among them, squandering his wealth
F F 2
436 COMEDY OF THE NABOB. \_Samnel
on panders and flatterers, tricking out his chairmen with
the most costly hot-house flowers, and astounding the igno-
rant with jargon about rupees, lacs, and jaghires ? K'or
did this masterly and powerful satire strike more heavily at
the baseness which corrupts, than at the meanness which
is ready to be corrupted. It is Mr. Touchit, a model
politician of the borough of Bribe'm, who, when Mr.
Mayor complains against the new candidate that where a
Nabob settles he raises the prices of provisions for thirty
miles round, says he talks like a fool ; for, suppose they
have mounted beef and mutton a trifle, " ain't we obliged to
" them for raising the value of boroughs too," and you
should always set one against the other. It was he also
who organised the Christian Club of bribery in his town,
on the principle of a reHgious equality of division in the
profits, so that no man should have a larger share than
another ; for, would you believe it, when he took up his
freedom he could get but thirty guineas for a new pair of
jack boots, while Tom Ramskin over the way had a fifty
pound note for a pair of wash-leather breeches. And it
IS to Mr. Touchit we owe the terse description of the
Christian Club rule of conduct, that, though it may have
some fear of the gallows, it don't value damnation of a
farthing. This excellent gentleman and his friends have
waited on the Nabob, with a tender of the nomination of
their two members at the ensuing election. One of their
members, they could not have afforded him under three
thousand at least ; but, as his honour had a mind to deal
in the gross, they should charge him but five for both.
The bargain is settled, and the Christians are departing,
when they catch sight of a " gentleman in black," in fact
a negro ; and, taking him for a native Indian, and
thinking the Nabob might wish to confer some dignity on
a gentleman whose tribe had conferred those splendid
titles upon his honour in India, they venture to suggest
that perhaps his honour might choose to make one of the
family member for the corporation of Bribe'm. *' Why,"
says the Nabob in amazement, " you would not submit to
*' accept of a negro ?" Certainly, by all means ; it makes
no difference to them. Their present members, for any-
thing they know, may be of the same complexion, for
they had never yet set eyes on them j and the Christian
F00te.~\ LORD HERTFORD AND HORACE WALPOLE. 437
Club lias ever been persuaded tliat a good candidate, like
a good horse, can't be of a bad colour.
It seems a little startling that such passages as these
should have passed under the eye of a licenser ; but the
office was then held by Lord Hertford, who in all matters
of difficulty was wont to have recourse to Horace
Walpole ; and that Horace had stomach for a great deal
more than even this, no reader of his Letters need be
told. Since the present Essay first appeared, an un-
published letter of Iiord Hertford's to Walpole has been
sent to the T^Titer, from which it would seem that
his advice was taken in reference to this very Comedy,
and that its first draft at least must have been completed
in the autumn of 1770. Several allusions in the Lame
Lover (produced in its original state in the May of that
year), show that the characters and doings of the Indian
magnates were then a subject in Foote's mind ; and to the
only piece acted between the Lame Lover and the Nabob
(the Maid of Bath), the expressions in Lord Hertford's
note would be wholly inapplicable. " Dear Horry,'* he
writes in August 1770, *' Be so good to cast your eye
" over the piece enclosed herewith which Mr. Foote has
" sent to me, and acquaint me if you do not think with
" me that the political part of it is too strong, and that
" the piece should be returned to him to be softened and
" altered before it can be licensed. I remain, dear
" Horry, ever truly yours, Hertford." Another in-
ference from this letter it is difficult to resist. The
onslaught upon the Society of Antiquaries, at the Nabob^s
introduction as a member, was not in the original sketch ;
and it will not be very uncharitable to suppose that
Horace may have suggested it. One of their great
pundits. Dean Milles, had mortally offended him by
remarks on the Historic Doubts, and he was longing for
a reasonable excuse to withdraw his name from the list of
members, when the general roar excited against them by
the Nahoh supplied him with the very excuse he wanted.
The Short Notes of his life inform us : " Foote having
" brought the Society of Antiquaries on the stage for
" sitting in council, as they had done, on Whittington
" and his Cat, I was not sorry to find them so ridiculous,
" or to mark their being so, and upon that nonsense, and
438 ORIGINAL OF SIR MATTHEW MITE. \_Samuel
" tlie laughter tliat accompanied it, I struck my name
" out of their book. That was at the end of July."
(1772). "I have taken leave of them/' he wi'ote to
Mann in the same month, " having so good an occasion
" presented as their council on Whittington and his Cat,
" and the ridicule that Foote has thrown upon them.'^
Never had greater crowds gathered nightly to the Hay-
market, than during the run of the Nabob; and among the
crowds so attracted, and so deservedly, were nabobs
themselves not a few. Indeed a pleasant story is told of
two East Indians of high rank and influence, calHng in
Suffolk-street to chastise the author of the satire, and
staying there to dine and make merry with him. *' Each
" cries that 's not levelled at me !" It is certain that two
persons were supposed to be chiefly aimed at. Sir Matthew
White and General Smith, the latter being, like Foote's
Sir Matthew Mite, the son of a cheesemonger ; and the
Suffolk-street story appears to be confirmed by a curious
passage in a letter of George Garrick's to his brother
written after the comedy was played, in which he mentions
it as an extraordinary fact that Foote was going to dine
with General Smith at Sir Matthew White's, and likewise
to lie all night there, and this by strong invitation.
*' Foote is afraid," he adds, " that they will put him in
" the coal-hole."
The assault upon sentimental comedy in his celebrated
Puppet-show,^ produced on Monday the 15th of February
^ At first not very successful. "It to be the only actors, drove the
" gave me great pleasure,'' Fitz- town out of its wits with expecta-
maurice hastened eagerly to write to tion. It attracted such a crowd, on
Garrick " to hear the sort of success the evening of its production, that
" Mr. Foote met with last night, the street was impassable for more
* ' What impudence to advertize than an hour ; and the huge assem-
*' again !" But Foote knew better blage, in its impatience, broke open
than a man of rank or fashion, the the doors of the theatre, great
audience with whom he had to deal ; numbers getting into the house
and he so wittily improvised addi- without paying anything. Hats,
tions to the Puppet-show, that it swords, cloaks, and shoes, were
became the ultimate attraction of lost ; several ladies fainted ; and a
that season. The truth was that in girl had her arm broken in an
the first instance expectation had endeavour to get into the pit. Then,
been raised too high. Such was as the natural consequence of such
the reputation of Foote, at this time, overstrained expectation, there was
that the announcement of a novelty a reaction, and, as we have seen,
in which himself and puppets were the first night suffered by it.
Foofe.']
ATTACK ON SENTIMENTAL COMEDY. 439
1773, succeeded tlie Nabob; but the piece written for the
puppetSj Pieti/ in Pattens, of which, you were to learn by
the moral How maidens of low degree might become rich
from the rnere effects of morality and virtue, and by the
literature How thoughts the most common-place might be
concealed under cover of words the most highflown, was
never printed. It gave the finishing blow to the good
work which Goldsmith had so effectively begun ; but all
that remains of it is a lively exordium spoken by Foote
himself, lavish of learning, wit, and pleasantry,' and in
which, among other things, there is a laugh at Garrick
for his Stratford Jubilee. For, this affair unhappily had
brought back a coolness again between the friends. Gar-
rick's stewards, and wands, and mulberry medallions, and
white-topped gloves, and fireworks that would not go off,
and rain and dirt-draggled masquerading, and above all
William Whitehead's silly lines to him —
*' A nation's taste depends on you,
Perhaps a nation's virtue too" —
SO utterly overthrew the wit's patience, that he proposed
to have a pasteboard imitation,' and to cap the couplet
^ I cannot resist the temptation *' confounded with those of that com-
of transcribing one passage which ex- " position, permit me to desire that
liibits not only the wit and pleasan- *' you will profit by the error of a
try, but the unvarying freedom of " raw country girl. Being brought
Foote's comment on the politics and ** by her friends for the first time
public men of his time. " As I "to a puppet-show, she was so
" have the honour," he said, " struck with the spirit and truth
"during the summer months, of " of the imitation, that it was scarce
" appearing before you decorated *' possible to convince her but all
" with the royal livery,' my present *' the puppets were players. Being
"employment may to some seem "carried, the succeeding night, to
"ill-suited to the dignity of that "one of the theatres, it became
" situation. Yet, though I am no " equally difficult to satisfy her
" friend to monopolies, I could wish "but that all the players were
" that there was no other puppet- " puppets."
" show in this town but my own, ^ "Px-ay, Sir, are your puppets
" and that no nobler hands were "to be as large as life ?" asked a
"employed in moving wires and lady of fashion. " Oh dear, Madam,
" strings than what are concealed " no," replied Foote ; "not much
" by that curtain. There are " above the size of Garrick."
" puppets, though formed of flesh Horace Walpole describes to one of
" and blood, full as passive, full as his correspondents the interference
" obedient as mine ; but that mine of Lord Staff"ord mentioned in the
* * may not have the disgrace of being text. * ' Garrick, " he says, ' * by
440 DAVID AND THE PUPPET-SHOW. [^Samiiel
with *' Cock-a-doodle-do ! " But the Marquis of Stafford
interposed, and unexpectedly at his door the two managers
met. It was the genial dinner-hour, and as they alighted
from their chariots significant looks were exchanged.
Garrick broke the silence. '' What is it, war or peace ?''
" Oh, peace by all means ! " said Foote, with frank good
will. And he kept his word.
The laugh which was left in the Puppet-show exordium
was good-natured, and even Garrick could not object to
his friend's whimsical and exquisite imitation of him in
the act of refusing to engage in his company Mr. Punch's,
wife Joan. The interchange of hospitalities between
.Hampton and North-End was resumed, and each became
again the other's affectionate servant. We find Garrick,
after this, using his great influence on Foote's behalf with
newspaper editors and proprietors. A dinner is proposed
by Foote, at which the guests are to be common friends ;
and to the invitation Garrick pleasantly responds, that,
whether himself inclined to North-End or not, a small
attention to his honour would have to take him, as
Mrs. Garrick was resolved, in case of any prudery on his
part, to go alone. Nor does Foote's gallantry fail him in
return. We have before us an unpublished letter' in
the negotiation of a ''Secretary of money to meet an unexpected
*' State, has made peace with demand made upon Foote by Mr.
"Foote ; and, hy the secret article Sowdon, a partner with him in some
** of the treaty, is to be left out of theatrical undertakings and pro-
** the Puppet-show." perties. Foote, who is thanked in
^ Another of this date, which has the same correspondence for some
not yet seen the light, is sufficiently little place in the Haymarket
brief and characteristic to be ap- Theatre conferred on an applicant
pended here : — "You and I are a at Garriek's request, replies among
' ' couple of buckets ; whilst you are other things : "I am, my dear Sir,
" raising the reputation of Shakes- " extremely obliged to you for your
" peare, I am endeavouring to sink " letter. I can readily account for
"it, and for this purpose I shall " Sowdon's silence; he wanted, I
" give next Monday the tragedy of " suppose, to leave the door open
*^ Hamlet, the Prince by <fcc, but " for a re-union, but that can never
" even in this situation we shall " happen. It is not impossible
" want your assistance to pull our " but (from his calling for payment
"poet above ground — the Ghost's "just at this time) that he may
"armour, which if you will give " accompany Barry in his expedition
" your housekeeper orders to de- " to Ireland. I think Sbuter's
" liver, you will be extremely kind " cant word for cash is corks ; it
" to your affectionate servant, S. " has not only metaphorically, but
" Foote." — A third, also unpub- " literally, been a useful jacket to
blished, shows Garrick advancing " Sowdon, on which he has often
FcOte.'\ GALLANTRY TO MRS. GARRICK. 441
whicli he describes a compliment he had ventured to pay
Mrs. Grarrick in a new piece, and, as the compliment is
not now to be found in his published writings, the reader
may not object to see it here. The superiority of female
government is asserted from the flourishing state of Spain,
France and England, governed at the same period by the
Princess des Ursins, Madame de Maintenon, and the
Duchess of Marlborough ; when, an objection being made
from the success of Drury-lane theatre under the acknow-
ledged direction of a man, to weaken that plea the director
is said to have also the good fortune to be assisted in his
councils by a Madame de Maintenon. Whereupon
Garrick's delight reveals itself by a message of cordial
congratulation on the success of the Bankrupt, which he
has heard, from a gentleman who loves and understands
alike the stage and the law, is Foote's best performance.
Among the best it certainly is, for its high and legiti-
mate aim. That was the fatal year (1772) of the vast
mercantile failures which Horace Walpole tells us were all
owing to the Scotch bankers, which involved losses com-
puted beyond four millions, and spread everywhere ruin
and dismay. Suggested by such personal incidents, there
''navigated with great success in posed slight shown him behind the
" the Irish seas. I have wrote to scenes by the Duke of Cumberland ;
" Sowdon, desiring him to fix a and who revenged himself by i*ecom-
" place and a day in the next week mending the public to go and pull
" to receive his money. . . Wood- downtheHaymarket, if the manage-
' ' ward has taken a last night for ment persisted in refusing to admit
" himself, and offered the public half-price. I find also that they
' ' a regale that would disgrace even together wrote candidates' addresses
" Bartholomew Fair, cet homme for the Election at Garrett, and
" la est bien charlatan. One of my went together to see the fim. I
" boxkeepers died about six weeks close this note with one more extract
" since ; the recommendation of an from an unpublished letter showing
"honest man for the office is a the hospitalities of North-End. "1
" favour done me." I have also " am happy that your inclination
other letters before me which show ** and health hold for Monday. I
the good understanding that con- " am sorry that Mrs. Garrick should
tinued to subsist between them *' think any preparation necessary
after this date. Garrick hopes soon ' ' for bringing any person she thinks
to see him at Hampton with "the " fit, where I have the least power.
" family of our fi'iends at Green- " I have asked Fitzherbert and
" wich." Garrick takes part with " Major Mills to meet you, so you
him against Hiffernan, whom Foote " know your company ; I beg
had tui'ned out of his theatre for " pardon, Chetwynd, who is much
vomiting treason before the whole "yours, will be here."
company, in consequence of a sup-
442 COMEDY OF THE BANKRUPT. \_SamUel
was yet no mere personal bitterness in it. Indeed he
struck out of it many allusions that might have given pain
to Sir George Fordyce, whose failure from unwise specu-
lation in this same year, though it spread wonder and
dismay over London, left his character unimpeached ;
and he levelled it exclusively at knavish manufacturers of
bankruptcies on 'Change, and at not less wicked inventors
of calumnies in the low and prurient press. A distinction
between their personalities, and his own, was here eagerly
sought to be marked: for, when the satirical editor,
Mr. Margin, claims to supply the law's defect by
stigmatising offenders it cannot reach, his claim is called
a malicious pretext under which to assail the innocent ;
and he is told that when slander is sown broadcast the
deformity of vice is overgrown, and the result is to make
bad men worse by hardening them in evil, and to render
even the good indifferent to what is the source of
patriotism and the sustainment of virtue, a just public
opinion. However, Mr. Margin would rather be persecuted
than preached at. Persecution, he says, is the life and
soul of his trade ; and his definition of hard times, is a time
with no prospect in it of getting lodged in Newgate for a
libel. It was strange that Foote should not see that
personal satire of any kind carried with it, in a greater or
less degree, the vice he thus denounced in Mr. Margin ;
that no one can ever, with any true satisfaction, flatter
himself he is extirpating knavery, by merely exposing a
notorious knave ; and that the only legitimate course is to
strike at the offence, and to leave the offender to be struck
at by justice.
It was after the production of this comedy that Foote
went to Ireland for the last time. In the preceding year he
had bid Scotland farewell. Such j ournies involved fatigue
and endurance in those days, and, though he is now little
more than fifty years old, we may see that age is stealing
on him. In that journey to Edinburgh,^ he wrote to Tate
* It was said of him, on the occa- visit, which we have from Boswell,
sion of this visit, that he gave enter- ought not to be omitted. Foote was
tainments unusually extravagant as at a large dinner-party, where
a rebuke to Scotch parsimony, and Boswell also was present, and the
used to send his cook to market in conversation turned upon Johnson.
a sedan-chair. An anecdote of the The wit instantly made merry at
FoOte,^ LAST VISIT TO IRELAND. 443
"Wilkinson, he had encountered more perils than in a
voyage to the Indies ; for, not to mention mountains, pre-
cipices, savage cataracts, and more savage men, he had
been locked up for near a week in a village, dirty, dismal,
and desolate, by a fall of snow. But he turned with
pleasanter thoughts to Ireland. Friends were there who
had always welcome for him ; the place was associated
with his earliest success ; and never had warmer greeting
been given him, than on his visit soon after his accident,
the first after Faulkner's verdict. Lord Townshend was
then Lord-lieutenant, and the Bedford and Rigby hospi-
talities were redoubled. His plays were commanded more
than once, and the result of the engagement was to re-
imburse a great loss he had undergone at play in passing
through Bath to Holyhead, and to restore him to the
Haymarket a richer man than he left it. Lord Harcourt
was now Lord-lieutenant, and he knew the same kindness
awaited him.
Yet there was a touch of sadness in the occasional pro-
logue he had written for his opening night, when he
appeared in the Nahoh. He reminds the Irish that they
first had acknowledged his humour as an actor (" you gave,
" at least discovered first, the vein ") ; and, contrasting his
youthful outset five- and- twenty years back with what he
was then to present to them, he can find but this subject
for self- congratulation in it, that —
*' If age contracts my muscles, shrills my tone,
No man will claim those foibles as his own."
Johnson's expense. And it was * ' is to say, you had never thought
very coarse jocularity, says Bos well, "upon the subject." There was
and made the company laxigh so a loud laugh at this coarseness,
much that he felt it was not quite which of course Foote did not relish ;
civil to himself. So, as a Roland and Boswell declares, with much
for Foote's Oliver, he tells them self- admiration for the disagreeable
that he at least had lately heard a thing he had been delivered of, that
capital thing from Johnson, what- he never saw Foote so disconcerted,
ever other people's experience of grave, and angry. "What, Sir !"
him had been. " Ah ! my old said he, "talk thus of a man of
"friend Sam," says Foote, "no "liberal education — a man who
" man says better things ; do let " for years was at the University
"us have it." "Why, he said," " of Oxford — a man who has added
rejoins Boswell, " when I asked " sixteen new characters to the
" him if you were not an infidel, " drama of his country !" And he
" that if you were, you were an proceeded earnestly to resent the
" infidel as a dog is an infidel j that gross imputation.
444 BEHIND THE SCENES AT DUBLIN. \_SamUel
But with his brother actors, before and behind the
scene, all was with him as of old. O'Keefe was a hanger
about the Dublin theatre in those days, and more than
half a century afterwards recalled with a kindly and vivid
impression the celebrated wit, with his humorous twinkle
of the eye, his smile so irresistible with one corner of his
mouth, and his voice rather harsh except when imitating
others. People wondered at him in Dubhn, according to
O'Keefe, for the dinners and wine he gave, and for what
seemed something of a parade of affluence ; but this made
part of the man. He never saw him, he adds, that he was
not surrounded by laughers, for none that came near him
could help it ; and nothing struck him so much as the effect
produced upon him one night, when, sitting in the green-
room as usual amid a crowded circle of the performers,
all in full laugh at and with him, he was suddenly discon-
certed by observing one young actor, who had fixed himself
right before the centre of attraction, maintain steadily a
calm, grave, quiet face, unmoved by the roar around. It
was an actor whom O'Keefe had that very morning seen
drilled by Foote in one of his comedies, when he mis-
pronounced a word. " Ha, ha ! " cried Foote : " What's
" that, sarcq/?/?firgus ? the word is sarcophagus ; it's derived
" from the Greek, you know ; I wonder that did not strike
you ! " But the youth had some wit, it w^ould seem, if
he had little Grreek, and he punished Foote in the manner
just related.
It was not, however, simply as a jester, that he had
such vogue with his brother performers. They are a
kindly, genial race, and Foote was always generous to
them. In this respect, certainly, he took the lead of the
Drury-lane manager; as well as in the simple, business-like,
unpretending way, in which he always treated of matters
of business. An actress complained to him one day of the
low salary she had from Garrick, on which Foote asked her
why she had gone to him, knowing the salary she might
have had at the Haymarket. " Oh, I don't know how it
" was," she said ; " he talked me over so by telling me he
" would make me immortal, that I did not know how to
"refusehim." "Did he so indeed?" saidFoote. ''Well,
" then I suppose I must outbid him that way. Come to
" me, then, when you are free. I '11 give you two pounds
FoOte.^ KINDNESS TO OLD AND SMALL ACTORS. 445
*' a week more, and charge you nothing for immortality ! "
Of the common vice of the profession, he seems to have had
less than almost any actor on record ; for it was assuredly
not jealousy of Garrick that made him laugh at the
attempt to set Powell above him, and, this case excepted,
he was remarkable for his encouragement of debutants.
Shuter, Weston,' Tate Wilkinson, Castallo, Baddely, Edwia,
all these men he brought forward himself, made known,
and assisted in every way ; and it was not alone actors
of merit, but the hoi poUoi of the scene, who expeiienced
his goodwill. Old actors were now with him at the Hay-
market, who had been with him since he first went there ;
whom he had kept, till they had long outlived their work ;
and whose presence on the salary-list he still justified to
his economical friend Jewel, by the remark that " he kept
" them on purpose to show the superior gentlemanly
" manners of the old school.'^ ^ Duriag tliis very winter
in Dublin, he was taken so ill one day at rehearsal that he
was obliged to announce upon the stage his inability to
play. '' Ah, Sir,'' said a poor actor who overheard him,
" if you will not play, we shall have no Christmas dinner.''
*'IIa!" said he at once: ''If my placing gives you a
^ Weston was Foote's favourite " me he used to produce the same
among all these men, and by all " effect when a boy, and when the
accounts he must have been an in- * ' master asked what was the
comparable actor. "You should "matter, his companions would
"have seen Weston," said North- "make answer — 'Weston looked
cotetoHazlitt. "It was impossible, " ' ai me. Sir ! ' Yet he came out in
" from looking at him, for any one " tragedy, as indeed they all did !"
" to say that he was acting. You — Conversations of Northcote, 210-
" would suppose they had gone out 211.
"and found the actual character * On other occasions, however, he
" they wanted, and brought him would illustrate these easy and
' * upon the stage without his know- superior gentlemanly manners by
" ing it. Even when they inter- telling of an eminent actor "of the
" rupted him with peals of laughter " old school" who, being informed
' ' and applause, he looked about that he must play Richard the Third
" him as if he was not at all con- the following night, returned for
"scions of having anything to do answer to the manager, "that his
" with it, and then went on as " rheumatism was so bad he could
"before. In Scrub, Dr. Last, and "scarcely stir hand or foot and
* * other parts of that kind, he was ' ' could not possibly play Richard,
" perfection itself. Garrick would "but if they would get up the
" never attempt Abel Drugger after ^^ Careless Husband he was quite
"him. There was something pecu- "ready to play Sir Charles
■ ' liar in his face ; for I knew an
" old school-fellow of his who told
446 LETTER TO DAVID GARRICK. [SamUel
" Cliristmas dinner, play I will ! " and, O'Keefe adds, ill
as he was lie kept his word.
Not many days later, his life was endangered by an
accident which has not till now been publicly described.
He relates it himself in a letter to Garrick, dated on the
last day of December; 1773, which has not before been
printed, and which leaves as vivid and characteristic an
impression of Foote as perhaps any single letter has ever
been able to convey of any writer. It requires Kttle
explanation. Jewel is his treasurer and secretary, and
always faithful friend. The allusion to Macklin is to his
recent authorship of plays. Little Jephson, whom he
here so happily mimics on the page, is the same who
afterwards wrote plays that Horace Walpole protested
were superior to Beaumont and Fletcher, and would Hve
for all ages. Faulkner needs no description from us, but
the reader will compare what he is made to say so sleekly
with what we have formerly said of him. Little Dot is
the elder Colman. Nor is the allusion to Johnson's and
Goldsmith's Club (the Literary Club, as it is so often
still misnamed) the least curious point of this various and
interesting letter. The Club had been in existence ten
years, yet Foote, a man to whom the best society of his
time was accessible, has only now first heard of it !
' ' My dear Sir, Had it not been for the coolness and resolution of
my old friend, and your great admirer, Jewel, your humble servant
would last night have been reduced to ashes by reading in bed. that
cursed custom ! The candles set fire to the curtains, and the bed was
instantly set in a blaze. He rushed in, hauled me out of the room, tore
down and trampled thepaperand curtains, and so extinguished theflames.
The bed was burnt, and poor Jewel's hands most miserably scorched.
So you see, my dear Sir, no man can foresee the great ends for which
he was born, Macklin, though a blockhead in his manhood and youth,
turns out a wit and a writer on the brink of the grave ; and Foote,
never very remarkable for his personal graces, in the decline of his life
was very near becoming a toast.
" I never saw the Monitor you allude to. It is a paper stigmatised
here for its virulence. However, it has had no apparent ellect upon
the public, as it would have been impossible for them to have paid
more attention to the nights I have played.
" Little Jephson, who owes his establishment on this side the water
to me, is (by being smuggled into Parliament) become in his own idea
a man of importance. He has been delivered, in a senate frequent
and full, of a false conception or two ; and is unanimously declared by
his colleagues incapable of either facundity or fecundity,
*' The first time I met with my gentleman was about a month after
my landing, at the Parliament-house. He had fixed himself on the
F00te.'\ LITTLE JEPHSON, VESEY, AND FAULKNER. 447
lowest bench next the floor, his arms folded and legs across, the right
eye covered by his hat, and the left occasionally thrown on me with an
unmarking transitory glance. However, the very polite attention paid
to me by the Speaker, the Duke of Leinster, Mr. Conolly, and indeed
all the men of consequence there, roused the Captain's recollection.
He approached with a cold compliment, and dropped a scarce audible
apology for not having called at my door ; but public-a-a-affairs
had-a-so entirely engrossed him, that he had really no leisure to-a-a-a.
I own I was ready to laugh in his face ; but recollecting a gravity equal
to his own, I applauded his zeal for the commonwealth : Begged that
no consideration of me should for the future divert his thoughts one
moment from the cause of his country : "Was afraid I had already
taken up too much of his time : Made him a most profound bow.
And the Copper Captain in politics with great gravity retired to his
seat. 1 find he has been left by Lord Townshend as a kind of incum-
brance upon his successors ; but I have some reason to believe that
they would be glad to get rid of the mortgage. He has since the inter-
view been very frequent and free with my knocker, but the servants
have received proper instructions.
"I have often met here a Mr. Vesey, who tells me that he belongs
to a Club with you and some other gentlemen of eminent talents. I
could not conceive upon what motive he had procured admittance ; but
I find he is the Accomptant-General here, so I suppose you have him
to cast up the reckoning.
'* I have not seen Alderman Fawkener. I thought myself obliged
to take some little notice of him in an occasional prologue. The
following is an original letter of his :
" TO TICKELL, ESQ.
" My most dear and esteemed Friend, — Your concurring in opinion with
me the last day we spent so agreeably together, that it would be prudent in
me forthwith to call in my debits, hath induced me to advertize you that I
have commissioned our common friend, Mr. Thomas Croaker, attorney-at-Iaw,
to sue you to an outlawry for one hundred pounds, as per bond, with all
possible speed. The steady and firm friendship we have ever maintained, and
the great esteem and respect I entertain for the valuable memory of your very
worthy deceased and ingenious father, Mr. Secretary Tickell, compels me to
send you this notice, being, my dearest friend,
" Your most faithful, affectionate, and obedient
" Humble servant till death,
" George Fawkener."
"I sincerely rejoice in your success, and feel no compassion for
Macklin, Kenrick, Covent-garden, nor that little i)o^, its dirty director.
At this season the winds are so variable, that I may possibly see you
before you can acquaint me with this reaching your hands. You may
assure Mrs. Garrick that flattering is not one of my failings, and that
she has the merit of making me constant and uniform in perhaps the
only part of my life — my esteem and veneration for her. Adieu, my
dear Sir. A good night, and God bless you. Take care of the candle.
"Samuel Foote,"
He soon followed his letter ; but before lie bids adieu
to Ireland one fact should be mentioned to his credit,
since it shows him, professed satirist as he was, by no
448 COMEDY OF THE COZENERS. \_SamUel
means ready to satirise at other people's bidding, or upon
appearances merely. There was a great fop in Dublin
at that time, Mr. Coote, afterwards Lord Belmont, really
a man of sense, though nobody who saw him in his silk
coat, satin shoes with red heels, or feathered hat, was pre-
pared to give him credit for it. Not so Foote, however.
The wit was asked on a special occasion purposely to make
a butt of him, but he soon discovered him for what he
really was, and refrained. " I think this same Mr. Coote,"
was his remark to the disappointed and amazed friends
who afterwards remarked on his forbearance, *' about the
" only well-bred sensible man in your whole city."
Not long after his re-appearance in London, he pro-
duced his Cozeners. Here again was legitimate satire.
It exposed traffickers in vice, denounced the prevailing
lax morality as to places in great men's gifts, laughed at
Charles Fox's match-making adventure already referred
to, and held up to reprobation macaroni preachers, and
traders in simony. Here, Mrs. Eudd rehearsed what she
soon after acted vsdth the Perreaus ; and a gibbet was set
up for Dr. Dodd, three years before Lord Chesterfield
hanged him. Foote had seized the occasion of Mrs.
Rudd's trial to expose the frightful corruption then per-
vading every class, and the flagrant indecencies of barter
and sale which went on as to government places and sine-
cures among agents the lowest and least worthy. Some
of the knaveries ascribed to Mrs. Fleec'em in this piece
might seem indeed extravagant (as where, after ordering
a quantity of silk which she carries off in her own
coach unpaid for, she carries off the silkmercer too,*
^ This was not so clever a mercer * * and send it to Newgate. She
as that other commemorated by *' saw his apprehension ; pulled out
Horace Walpole in connexion with " her pocket-book ; and, giving him
this ingenious lady. " Preparatory *' a bank-note of 20^, said, ' There
' to her trial," he writes to Mann, " * is a pair of scissors.'" — Natu-
' she sent for some brocaded silks to rally the interest inspired by so
' a mercer ; she pitched on a rich cool and consummate an offender
' one, and ordered him to cut off was universal, and even Dr. John-
' the proper quantity : but the son regretted that he could not go
' mercer reflecting that if she were to see Mrs. Rudd. He'd have gone
' hanged, as was probable, he should fifteen years ago: "but now, Sir,
' never be paid, pretended he had " they have a trick of putting
' no scissors, but would carry home ** everything into the newspapers."
' the piece, cut off what she wanted, BosweJl went, of course.
F00/e.~\ LAUGH AT CHARLES JAMES FOX. 449
bewildered by her fascinations, to a mad-doctor pre-
viously prepared for his reception, and there leaves him
to settle with that worthj^, who speedily claps a strait-
waistcoat on him), did not the stories actually recorded of
Mrs. E-udd exceed them all. I^or are the dupes of the
comedy less amusing than the rogues. Most laughable
is the family of the Aircastles ; whose booby son, played
by AVeston, gave Foote his opportunity for a laugh at the
Charles Fox adventure vnth. the West-Indian heiress. The
prize Mrs. Fleec'em had provided for Toby was a black
girl, with no end of money ; but she, like Miss Phipps,
had an objection to very dark eyebrows.' Foote himself
played Aircastle ; and so humoured the joke with Weston,
that the " private boxes," we are told in a letter of the
time, filling always nightly as this scene was coming on,
were " convulsed with laughter."
But the most masterly sketch in the Cozeners was that
of the fashionable preacher Dr. Dodd. This wi'etched
person had very recently offered a large bribe to Lady
Apsley on condition that she obtained for him, from the
Chancellor, the li\ing of St. George's Hanover-square ;
1 The reader may be amused if I -Mrs. Mr. But, as to his figure,
anhioin an pxtraot from this <icfn9 Madam; do you apprehend it will
suDjom an extract Horn this scene strike her? Toby, hold up your head.
(Act in. So. 11.), once so celebrated Mrs. Fl. I can see no reason against
and mirth-moving, now long for- it; indeed, the young gentleman has
gotten and passed away. ^?^f ^ /'^'"^^ complexion than what
° r J gj^e has been commonly used to ; the
mitives of India, from their cUmate,
"Mrs. Air. Toby will be very happy, ha%'e rather a sallow hue.
I am sure. You see, Madam, what the Mrs. Air. True, Madam,
lad is. Mrs. FL But, if necessary, that may
Mrs. Fleec'em. A most agreeable be esisily altered by art ; some saffron,
youth, I must own ; and then his or snuff, just skimmed over his face-
silence is a modest mark of his merit. Mrs. Air. Quickly.
Air. Do you hear that, Mrs. Air Air. I have a box of Scotch in my
Mrs. A. Yes ; and I hope it will pocket ; it may be done in an instant,
make a proper impression on you. — Mrs. Fl. Their hair, too. is mosfc
You, doubtless, Madam, know the commonly dark ; but a little German
tasteof your niece; may we hope that blacking here, on each of the eye-
Toby has any chance of succeeding? brows
Airs. Fl. She was prodigiously plea.sed Toby. If a burnt cork will do, I have
•with Mr. Flaw's account of his parent^ : one in my pocket.
which, indeed, I now find to be true in Air. Mr. Flaw, will you ring for a
every respect. candle? * * * Jlind your behaviour.
Mr. and Mrs. Air. Oh, Madam. my good lad. I wish we had time,
Mrs. Fl. And as to fortune, she is though, to doctor his face : against
totally careless in that, her own being their next meeting, I will do it myself,
much more than sufficient. I will manage that matter, I warrant :
Air. How manly that is in a I learnt the art, last autumn, of a
woman! — I remember. Miss Patty parcel of strollers: they had been
Plumb, of Jamaica, did the very same })laying, during the dogdays, with one
—they say her grandfather was trans- Foote, in this town— a fellow, they say,
ported for robbing a hen-roost who takes people off, and "
G a
450 DR. dodd's first gibbet. \_Samuel
and such indignation was excited by it, and by Footers
exposure of it in this play, that Dodd's name was struck
out of the list of the King's chaplains.' He is introduced
as Dr. Simony ; and from the flattering portrait of his
admiring wife, Mrs. Simony, some few traits may be
drawn for the reader's edification. The Doctor's powers,
according to this partial witness, are pretty well known
about town : not a more populous preacher within the
sound of Bow-bells. And she don't mean for the mobility
only — those every canting fellow can catch ; but the best
people of fashion arn^t ashamed to follow her Doctor.
Nor is he one of the humdrum, drawling, long-winded
tribe ; he never crams congregations, or gives them more
than they can carry away : not more than ten or twelve
minutes, at most. Even the Duchess Dowager of Drowsy
was never known to nod at her Doctor. Moreover he
doesn't pore, with his eyes close to the book, like a clerk
that reads the first lesson — not he ! but all extemporary,
madam, with a cambric handkerchief in one hand, and a
diamond ring on the other. And then he waves this way
and that way ; and he curtsies, and he bows, and he
bounces, that all the people are ready to . And
then, she interrupts herself with enthusiasm, his "wdg !
She is sure we must admire his dear wig ; not with the
bushy brown buckles, dangling and dropping like a New-
foundland spaniel, but short, rounded off at the ear to
show his plump cherry cheeks, white as a curd, feather-
topped, and the curls as close as a cauliflower. He is
so obedient too — as humble and meek as a curate : does
quite duly his duties : never scruples to bury, though it be
but a tradesman — unless indeed he happens to be better
engaged. Then he is so cheerful, with such a choice
collection of songs ; and if you are entitled to her full
confidence, she might offer you a bank-note as a
hymn of the Doctor's own composing. But, above
all, her Doctor is none of your schismatics : believes
in the whole thirty-nine ! And so he would, if there
were nine times as many. Such is the excellent
* Themiserable creature's piteous (2Tid Series, Wo. 105). And see
appeal against this step has been Walpole's Letters, Ed. Cunningham.
iixtoly reprinted mNotes and Queries vi. 55.
FOOU.'] RIDICULE OF LORD CHESTERFIELD. 451
Dr. Simony, of a race, we fear, not yet quite extinct
upon the earth.
We must not omit to add, in connexion with the
Aircastle family in this comedy, that son Toby was made
also the vehicle for laughing at a book then attracting
general attention. Clownish, lumpish, and awkward to
the last degree, little Weston was yet called upon con-
tinually to sacrifice to the Graces, in ridicule of the
Chesterfield Letters then just given to the world. Foote
had indeed so strong an aversion to those Letters, that
he contemplated also a more elaborate burlesque of them.
Lord Eliot told the Boswell party that he intended to
bring on the stage a father who had tutored his son after
the Chesterfield manner ; and to show the son, as its
natural result, an honest man to every one else, but
practising upon his father his father's maxims, and always
cheating him. Johnson was greatly pleased with the
design, but wished the son to be an out-and-out rogue,
providing only that, for poetical justice, the father should
be the sole sufferer. Perhaps Johnson's view was the
more true, and Foote's the more dramatic.
But an illness intercepted this purpose, which was not
renewed; and it was at this time Boswell heard of Foote'a
having said, that he was not afraid to die. Of course it
was repeated to Johnson, and was met by the remark that
it was not true. Yet the good old man more truly felt
and said, in another conversation, that it might have
been true ; that the act of dying is not really of
importance, that it matters far less how a man dies
than how he lives, and that it will at any rate do liim
no good to whine. At the same time, though Foote was
certainly not of the whining sort, he could now hardly fail
to mix up with the wearying and depressing thoughts
of sickness and approaching age, some sense of life
misspent, of opportunities lost, of resources not hus-
banded, of powers imperfectly used if not misapplied;
and accordingly, when he had mastered this illness, at
the close of 1774, he wrote to Garrick in contemplation
of passing some time on the Continent, and ridding him-
self of managerial cares. He would go therc^ he says,
not for pleasure but prudence, for he is tired with racking
his brain, tired of toiling Hke a horse, and crossing seas
452 A BLOW GIVEX AND RETURNED. \_SamUel
and mountains in the dreariest seasons, merely to pay-
servants' wages and tradesmen's bills. He has therefore
resolved to let his theatre if he can meet with a proper
tenant, and he asks Garrick to help him to one, and he
kisses Mrs. Garrick's hands.
Such thoughts and purposes, however, were still in
abeyance, when the idea of a new comedy occurred to him,
and brought on suddenly the last and most terrible trial
of his life. He was now to have a bitter test unexpectedly
applied to the principle on which throughout all his life
he had based his habits of personal caricature, and to
find it wofully fail him. There was at this time promi-
nent before the world, a woman of such notorious vice
and such conspicuous station, that it might have been
thought, if ever its application should be warrantable, it
would be here ; yet when he struck at her, she struck
again, and her blow proved heavier than his. He had
hereafter to reflect, that, whatever might be the supposed
advantages of personal satire, it had this enormous disad-
vantage, that it is the very vice most inviting its exercise
which is most able to bear up against and defy its conse-
quences. The sensitive will sink under injustice which
the coarse need only laugh at.
The Duchess of Kingston obtained information that he
had satirised her in a piece, the Trip to Calais, then in
the licenser's hands. Through the Chamberlain's office,
the secret had oozed. She instantly brought all her
influence to bear on Lord Hertford. Foote heard of her
intention, and wrote a masterly letter to the Chamberlain.
An interview with the Duchess herself in the presence of
witnesses followed, but equally against offers of money and
threateninsrs of law Foote stood firm.' It is clear that he
* He took it lightly enough at **^/ece?" he repeated, to one who
this time. " The Duchess offered asked that question of him. "Oh,
•' to buy it off," says Wal pole, ** hut "that's intelligible enough. He
" Foote would not take her money, " asked me to make his youngest
" and swears he will act her in Lady " son a boxkeeper, and because I
" Brumpton" (a character in Steele's " would not he stopped my play."
Funeral), " which to be sure is very To those who heard it, this had a
"applicable." He would not even double meaning. Grarrick also wrote
hold the Duchess as of any account to Colman thus (June 25, 1775) : —
in the business. " Whi/ has Lord " We wanted you much at the elec-
" Hertford refused to Licence my " tion to-day. Foote was in great
F00te.'\ THE LORD CHAMBERLAIN APPEALED TO. 453
believed himself right, felt Hs case to be so strong that he
7nust triumph, and perceived that, if conquered in this
instance, his vocation as a satirist Avas gone.
He told Lord Hertford, therefore, that if he saw good to
enforce the law against him, it would decide his fate for
the future. After such a defeat, it would be impossible
for him to muster up courage enough to face folly again.
Yet, even with this grave forecast of a life made j^rofitless,
he would not shrink from claiming the addition of a
Plaudite to the Vcdeat res ludicra ! During his continuance
in the service of the public, he had never sought to profit
by ilattermg their passions or falHng in with their
humours. On all occasions he had exerted his little
powers, as indeed he thought it his duty, in exposing
foibles however much the favourites of the day, and
condemning prejudices however protected or popular.
Sometimes he beHeved he had done this with success.
At any rate, he had never lost his credit with the public,
because they knew, whatever errors of judgment he might
have committed, he proceeded on principle. They knew
that he had disdained being either the echo or the instru-
ment of any man however exalted in station, and that he
had never consented to receive reward or protection from
any other hands than their own.
Lord Hertford felt the difficulty, and seems to have
done his best to act fairly in the circumstances. He saw
Foote, and suggested a compromise. Foote at once con-
ceded that he would remove any particular passages
pointed out as overstepping the fair limits of pubKc
satii-e, but to this the Duchess flatly refused consent.
Nothing would satisfy her but entire suppression. For
this she would even remunerate him, but no other con-
*' spirits, but bitter against the " dame," he ■writes to Masoa
*' Lord Chamberlain. He will bully (August 5, 1775), "as if he had
*' them into a licence. The Duchess "been a member of parliament,
" has had him in her closet and ** ofFeiei to buy him off. Aristo-
" offered to bribe him ; but Cato " phaces's Grecian virtue was not
" himself, though he had one more " to be corrupted ; but he offered
* ' leg than our friend, was not more ' ' to read the piece, and blot out
*' stoically virtuous than he has " whatever passages she would
" been. You shall know all when " mark that she thought applicable
" I see you." A letter of Horace " to her case. She was too cunning
"Walpole'b is worth adding : — ' • The ' ' to bite at this ; and they parted. "
454 A PROFESSIONAL LIBELLER CALLED IN. \_SamUel
dition would she tolerate. In a second interview at
Kingston-house, in the presence of Lord Mountstuart
(who afterwards confirmed Foote's appeal for support as
to the truth of this averment), he rejected "splendid
" offers '' to this effect then made to him. He still
held himself safe. He could not believe, as he wrote to
Lord Hertford, that because a capricious woman conceived
that he had pinned her ruffle awry, he should be punished
by a poniard struck deep in his heart.
But he did not know the antagonist with whom he had
to deal, or that the wound was indeed to be mortal. She
had now called to her aid a man as devoid of principle as
herself, and with even more abundant means of giving
effect to his reckless audacity of wickedness. This fellow,
one Jackson, an Irish parson who afterwards became
involved in treasonable practices before the outbreak of
the Irish rebellion, and who poisoned himself in prison
on the eve of the day appointed for his execution, imme-
diately opened all the batteries of most unscrupulous libel
against Foote. The effect may be imagined of the use
of money without stint, in the execution without remorse
of such a scheme. It is appalling, even yet, to turn to the
newspapers and pamphlets of that day, and see the cold
and cruel persistence in the attacks against the great
humourist, into whose vortex even journals calling them-
selves respectable were drawn.^
Foote at last showed a certain sign of quailing under it.
A cry of pain was wrung from him. He offered to sup-
press the scenes that had given offence, if the Duchess
would give directions that the newspaper attacks should
* Men also of respectable name whose testimony, opposed to Lord
joined in it, and a person who had Mountstuart's, could by no means
represented the Duchess in one of be implicitly accepted. To this
the interviews "the Rev. Mr. Garrick refers in a letter to Col-
** Foster, a clergyman of high re- man, {Ibid.) "Notwithstanding
** spectability" (Peake's Memoirs *' Foster's oath, Foote has thrown
of the Colmans, i. 388) swore to " the Duchess upon her back, and
his belief that Foote had agreed to "there has left her, as you or I
suppress the piece on receiving two " would do. She is sick, and has
thousand pounds. But this witness, " given up the cause, and has made
though incapable of any deliberate " herself very ridiculous, and hurt
misreport, was upwards of eighty " herself much in the struggle,
years of age at the time, and a man " Foote's letter is one of his best
of a very impracticable temper, " things, in his best manner."
Foote.']
THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON TO FOOTE.
455
not continue. This, it is true, was after the \isit of one
of her friends, a member of the Privy Council, who had
eagerly interceded for her : but, in whatever way elicited,
it presented itself as a triumph, and so she treated it.^
^ I subjoin the two letters that
followed ; and if Foote's is truly to
be called a masterpiece of wit, of
irony, and of matchless satire, that
of the Duchess may be held not less
supreme in foulness of allusion and
cool impudence of assumption. For,
there is not a word in the letter to
which she affects to reply, that in
the remotest degree couutenances
what she at once proceeds to take
for granted. But, if she were
capable of any feeling at all, the
punishment which fell upon her, in
Foote's rejoinder, was certainly as
terrible as it was swift. These
letters were lately reprinted in
Notes and Queries, but they are
now given here with much more
completeness and accuracy. As to
a leading passage in both, the reader
will remember what has been said
in a note, ante, p. 340.
**t0 mr. foote.
''Sir,
*' I was at dinner when I received
** your ill-judged letter. As there is
" little consideration required, I
*' shall sacrifice a moment to
** answer it.
" A member of your Privy Coun-
** cil can never hope to be of a
*' lady's cabinet.
' ' I know too well what is due to
*' my own dignity, to enter into a
*' compromise with an extorti enable
" assassin of private reputation. If
" I before abhorred you for your
" slander, I now despise you for
*' your concessions ; it is a proof of
*' the illiberality of your satire,
•' when you can publish or suppress
** it as best suits the needy conve-
** nience of your purse. You first
" had the cowardly baseness to
" draw the sword ; and if I sheath
' ' it until I make you crouch like
•* the subservient vassal as you are,
*' then is there not spirit in an
*' injured woman, nor meanness in
•' a slanderous Buffoon.
" To a man my sex alone would
*' have screened me from attack —
" but I am writing to the descend-
"ant of a Merry-Andrew, and
* ' pi-ostitute the terra of manhood
" by applying it to Mr. Foote.
" Clothed in my innocence, as in
* ' a coat of mail, 1 am proof against
" an host of foes ; and, conscious of
*' never havingintentionally offended
" a single individual, I doubt not
" but a brave and generous public
*' will protect me from the malevo-
" lence of a theatrical assassin. You
" shall have cause to remember,
"that though I wou'd have given
" liberally for the relief of your
" necessities, I scorn to be bullied
" into a purchase of your silence.
' ' There is something, however,
" in yowT pity at which my nature
*' revolts. To make me an offer of
'^ pity at once betrays your inso-
" lence and your vanity. I will
" keep the pity you send until the
" morning before you are turned off,
* ' when I will return it by a Cupid
" with a box of lip-salve, and a
" choir of choristers shall chaunt a
" stave to your requiem.
" E. Kingston.
" Kingston House,
"Sunday, 13th August.
"P.S. You would have received
" this sooner, but the servant has
*' been a long time writing it."
" to the duchess op kingston.
"Madam,
*' Though I have neither time nor
" inclination to answer the illiberal
" attacks of your agents, yet a
" public correspondence with your
* ' grace is too great an honour for
" me to decline. I can't help think-
45Q
FOOTE TO THE DUCHESS OF KINGSTON.
\_Samuel
She rejected Ms offer witli contempt, and called Mm not
only a base coward and a slanderous buffoon, a merry-
andrew and a tlieatrical assassin, but struck at liim with
* ' ing but it would have been
" prudent in your grace to have
" answered my letter before dinner,
*' or at least postponed it to the
''cool liour of the morning; you
" would then have found that I
" had voluntarily granted that re-
* * quest, which you had endeavoured,
"by so many different ways, to
** obtain.
"Lord Mountstuart, for whose
•' amiable qualities I have the
" highest respect, and whose name
*' your agents first very unnecessa-
** rily produced to the public, must
" recollect, when I had the honour
" to meet him at Kingston-house
*' by your grace's appointment, that
*' instead of begging relief from
" your charity, I rejected your
" splendid offers to suppress the
" Trip to Calais, with the con-
* ' tempt they deserved. Indeed,
*' madam, the humanity of my
* • royal and benevolent master, and
*' the public protection, have placed
" me much above the reach of your
*' bounty.
"But why, madam, put on your
" coat of mail against me ? I have
" no hostile intentions. Folly, not
" Vice, is the game I pursue. In
" those scenes which you so unac-
' ' countably apply to yourself, you
" must observe, that there is not
" the slightest hint at the little
" incidents of your life which have
* ' excited the curiosity of the grand
" inquest for the county of Middle-
" sex. I am happy however,
" madam, to hear that your robe
" of innocence is in such perfect
" repair ; I was afraid it might be
" a little the worse forthe weainng.
" May it hold out to keep your
" grace warm the next winter.
" The progenitors your grace has
" done me the honour to give me
" are, I presume, merely meta-
" phorical persons, and to be con-
" sidered as the authors of my
* * muse, and not of my manhood.
" A Merry- Andrew and a prosti-
* ' tute are not bad poetical parents,
" especially for a writer of plays :
" the first to give the humour and
" mirth, the last to furnish the
" graces and powers of attraction.
" Prostitutes, and players too, must
"live by pleasing the public; not
" but your grace may have heard of
" ladies who, by private practice,
"have accumulated great fortunes.
"If you mean that I really owe
" my birth to that pleasant con-
' ' nection, your gi'ace is grossly de-
* ' ceived. My father was, in truth,
' ' a very useful magistrate and re-
' ' spectable country gentleman, as
"the whole county of Cornwall will
* ' tell you : my mother, the daugh-
" ter of Sir Edward Goodere, baro-
" net, who represented the county
" of Hereford. Her fortune was
* ' large, and her morals irreproach-
" able, till your grace condescended
" to stain them. She was upwards
" of fourscore years old when she
* ' died ; and, what will surprise
" your grace, was never married
" but once in her life.
' ' I am obliged to your grace for
" your intended present on the day,
" as you politely express it, when I
" am to be turned off. — But where
" will your grace get the Cupid to
* ' bring me the lip salve ? — That
" family, I am afraid, has long
" quitted your service.
' ' Pray, madam, is not Jackson
" the name of your female confiden-
' ' tial secretary ? and is not she
" generally clothed in black petti-
* ' coats made out of your weeds ?
"'So rnourn'd the dame of Ephesus
her love.'
" I fancy your grace took the hint
" when you last resided at Kome.
" You heard there,- I suppose, of a
Foote.^
THE RING ATIOUND THE COMBATANTS. 457
even fouler and more terrible imputations. "Walpole lias
described her letter and its sequel. " Drunk with triumph
" she would give the mortal blow with her own hand, but,
" as the instrument she chose was a ^oose- quill, the stroke
" recoiled on herself. She WTote a letter in the Evening
" Post which not the lowest of her class, who tramp in
" pattens, would have set her mark to. Billingsgate
'^ from a Ducal coronet was inviting ; however, Foote,
'' with all the delicacy she ought to have used, repHed
*' only with wit, irony, and confounding satire. The
" Pope will not be able to wash out the spots with all the
" holy water in the Tiber. I imagine she will escape a
" trial, but Foote has given her the coup de grace,^' Soon
after he wrote to Mason, " What a chef-d'oeuvre is Foote's
" answer ! " to which Mason responds, " I agree mth you
" in tliinking Foote's answer one of the very best tilings
'' in the English language, and prefer it in its kind :
'' Mr. Pope's letter to Lord Hervey is nothing to it."
" The Duchess is a clever sort of woman," said a country
squire who had received some services from her, "but
" she was never so much out in her life as when she
" ventured to wte a letter to Mr. Foote." " She was
" resolved to have a new kick," said Hoadly, who, though
no friend of Foote's, cannot but add his tribute to the
general feeling, " and he has given it to her to the
" purpose."
Masterly and complete as the answer was, however, it
was written with an aching heart. Openly Foote would
not now shrink, but her stab was rankling in him. She
did not escape her trial. She was arraigned for bigamy
before her peers, was convicted, was stripped of her title
of Duchess, and, as Dunning threatened her, might have
been burnt in the hand, but that meanwhile the death of
her first husband's brother. Lord Bristol, had given her
still the right to that privilege of peerage she claimed, and
which, enabling her to leave the court punished only by a
" certain Joan, who was once elected "That you may never want the
" a Pope, and in humble imitation ^'■Benefit of tlip, Clenji/, in every
" have converted a pious parson into " emergence, is the sincere wish of
" a chambermaid. The scheme is "your grace's most devoted most
"new in this coimtry, and has " obliged humble servant,
' ' doubtless its particular pleasures. * ' Samuel Foote."
458 COMEDY OF THE CAPUCHIN. \_Samuel
lower step in the rank of nobility, left the record of those
portentous proceedings, partly a State Trial and partly a
History of Moll Flanders, to carry its traits of dignified
morality and justice down to succeeding generations. But,
though her trial was thus over, Foote's was but to begin.
He resolved to drag forth the secret libeller, and fight the
matter out with him. He recast the Trip to Calais ;
struck out Lady Kitty Crocodile ; put in, under the guise
of a low Irish pimp and pander whom he called Dr.
Viper, his hidden slanderer Dr. Jackson ; and announced
the first night of the Capuchin.
The comedy was played at the Haymarket a few
months after the Kingston trial, when Foote played Dr.
Viper, and threw into it his bitterest pungency of manner
as well as words. It was successful, yet with a difierence
from old successes. The house was packed with enemies;
and, though the friends were strong enough to carry it
against opposition, the opposition was also strong enough
still to make itself heard. It was full of " good strokes,"
says one who was present, but they did not tell as usual.
Jackson's libels had not been without their effect even
within the walls of the Haymarket. *' There was great
" applause, but rather more disapprobation," says Miss
Wilkes, when she saw it some nights after the first.'
Nevertheless it continued to be acted until the theatre
closed. Jackson had meanwhile resolved that if possible
the theatre never should re- open, and he took his measures
accordingly.
Such was the character of the libels against Foote,
and their inveterate frequency between the closing of that
season and the opening of the next, that it soon became
obvious the matter could not rest where it was. The
impression became general that, without first applying
authorised means to arrest the calumny, the Haymarket
must remain shut. Notices to this effect appeared in
respectable journals. But, whatever Foote may have felt,
his attitude betrayed no discomposure. He took no public
notice of the rumours. His advertisements appeared as
usual, only a little later ; and at the close of May he
opened his season of 1776 with the Bankrupt. The
1 Letters of Wilkes, ii. 253.
F00te.~\ A HORRIBLE REVEXGE. 459
house was crammed, men of rank and men of letters were
in all parts of the theatre, and something too evidently
was expected. It broke out as soon as Foote appeared ;
when such was the reception given him by a small knot
of people stationed in the gallery, that all the ladies pre-
sent in the boxes immediately withdrew. But even then
he showed no lack of courage ; and the spirit and feeling
with which he at once stepped forward and addressed the
audience, produced a sudden revulsion in his favour
among those who before had shown indifference. He
appealed to their humanity and justice. He had sum-
moned his libeller into the Court of King's Bench, and
that very day the rule had been made absolute. Were
they not too noble and too just to discard an old servant,
without giving him time to prove that he had never been
unworthy of their favour, and would never disgrace their
protection ? The comedy was permitted to proceed, and
a riot was not again attempted.
But Jackson had not yet thrown his last stake. He
had hardly been convicted as a libeller in the highest
common-law court, and publicly dismissed from the paper
Avhich had to make a formal apology for his libel, when
there appeared suddenly at Bow- street a discarded
coachman of Footers, a fellow of the worst character, and
branded by the subsequent proceedings with unspeakable
infamy, who preferred a charge against his late master
giving open, confessed, and distinct form to all the unspeak-
able rumours for which Jackson had been convicted. We
spare the reader the miserable detail.' For months Foote
was kept with an accusation hanging over him, of such a
kind as to embitter the most unsullied life against which
it might be breathed. Every artifice was used to prolong
the time of trial. But meanwhile he proved his friends.
^ An unpublished letter of Foote's "obliged to you for using your
to Garrick is before me endorsed by ' ' influence where I begged it. I
the latter "Foote's letter to me "have directed Jewel to advertize
"about the Footman." Garrick " all my performances in the iVorri-
had been interesting himself with " ing Post, and if the gentleman
Woodfall of the Chronicle, Bate of " who is supposed to be the editor
the Morning Post, and others. " should again turn his thoughts
" Ten thousand thanks, my dear " to the drama, me and my stage
** Sir, for your kind message to me " he may ever command."
* ' by Mr. Woodfall, nor am I less
400 TRIAL A^^D ACQUITTAL. [SamUCl
There was not a step in tlie preparation of his defence
which was not solicitously watched by Garrick. " I have
" been most cruelly used," Foote at last writes to him :
"but I have, thank God, got to the bottom of this
" infernal contrivance. God for ever bless you." " My
" dear, kind friend," he Avrites the following day, " ten
" thousand thanks for your note. I shall make the proper
" use of it directly. I am to swear to an information
" this evening. My spirits are much better, but I am
" fatigued to death with such a crowd of comforters ;
" I have this instant got rid of a room-full. May nothing
" but halcyon days and nights cro\\Ti the rest of your life !
" is the sincere prayer of S. Foote."
With such crowds of comforters flocking round him, he
was able to play his various comedies as usual, and is
said never to have played better. So far from being
abandoned, so far from any one doubting or turning from
him, Cooke says that " his theatre, from the first moment
" of the charge to the close of the trial, exhibited a con-
" tinual assemblage of rank, learning, fashion, and friend-
" ship. Among the two former classes, particularly are to be
" numbered two royal Dukes, the late Duke of Roxburgh,
" the Marquis of Townshend, Mr. Dunning, Mr. Burke,
"Sir Joshua Reynolds, Mr. Fitzherbert, many foreign
" noblemen, and a group of others of the first respect-
" ability." ^ Mr. Dunning was his counsel, and, the case
having been moved into the King's Bench, Lord Mans-
field was his judge. The charge had scarcely been stated
before it was demolished, and the special jury, even
refusing to turn round in the box, at once cried out
together, ]N"ot guilty. But hardly could it have been
guessed, until this issue was known, what a deep and
sensitive suffering Foote's manliness and spirit had con-
^ Cooke does not mention, but it touches, and was played after one
is well worth recording here, that of Foote's comedies. When Foote
the King also took occasion during lighted the King to his chaix', his
the interval to command the Hay- Majesty asked who the piece was
market performances, when per- written by? "By one of your
haps the solitary instance occurred Majesty's chaplains," said Foote,
of a play damned in the presence of unable even then to suppress his
royalty. It was the Contract, wit; "and dull enough to have
takea by Doctor Thomas Franklin *' been written by a bishop."
from the Triple Marriage of Des-
F00te.~\ LAST APPEARANCE OX THE STAGE. 4G1
cealed. Murphy hastened from the court to Suffolk-
street to be messenger of the glad tidings, when his old
friend, instead of manifesting joy, fell to the ground in
strong hysterics.
His theatre \Yas soon let to Colman, and under the new
management he played but thrice.^ A few months before
that final appearance, we get our last near glimpse of him,
and see one of the last flashes of his humour. It is at
the Queen's drawing-room in January 1777. Greeted
heartily by all around him, made to feel that his infamous
persecutors had not been able to sully his name, and
singled out for recognition by his sovereign, the old spirit
for a while reasserts its sway. '' Sir George Warren,"
says Cumberland, who also was present, " had his Order
" snatched otf his ribbon, encircled with diamonds to the
" value of 700/. Foote was there, and lays it upon the
" parsons ; having secured, as he says, his gold snuff-box
" in his waistcoat pocket upon seeing so many black
" gowns in the room."
In May 1777 he played at the Haymarket for the last
time, in the Devil on Two Sticks. Cooke saw . him, and
says his cheeks were lank and withered, his eyes had lost
their fire, and his person was sunk and emaciated. Five
months later he left town for Dover, not without the
* The reader will perhaps thank 11. The Orators. A Comedy, 1762
me for here subjoining a complete 12. The Mayor of Garrett,
list of the dramatic pieces of Foote, A Comedy . . 1763
classed after his own description, 13. The Patron. A Comedy 1764
with the dates at which they were 14. The Commissary. A
respectively produced upon the Comedy . . . 1765
stage. 15. Prelude on Opening the
1. Diversions of the Morn- Hayma,rlvet Theatre . 1767
ing (Not printed) . 1747 16. The Devil upon Two
2. Auction of Pictures. (Not Sticks. A Comedy . 1768
printed) . . . 1748 17. The Lame Lover. A
3. The Knights. A Comedy 1748 Comedy . . . 1770
4. Taste. A Comedy . 1752 18. The Maid of Bath. A
5. The Englishman in Paris. Comedy . . . 1771
A Comedy. . . 1753 19. The Nahob. A Comedy 1772
6. The Englishman returned 20. Piety in Pattens. A
from Paris. A Farce . 17.^6 Farce. (Not printed) . 1773
7. The Author. A Comedy 1757 21. The Bankrupt. AComedy 1773
8. The Diversions of the 22. The Cozeners. AComedy 1774
Morning. Altered into 23. The Capuchin. AComedy 1776
a Farce. (Not printed) 1758 24. A trip to Calais. A
9. The Minor. A Comedy . 1760 Comedy. (Printed, but
lU. The Liar. A Comedy . 1761 never pei'formed).
462 DEATH. [Samuel Foot e,
presentiment that he would never return. He had a
choice collection of pictures in Suffolk- street ; among
them a fine portrait of the incomparable comedian,
Weston, who had died the preceding year ; and on the
day before his journey, after examining them all in a way
wholly unusual with him, he suddenly stopped as he was
leaving the room, went up again to Weston's picture, and,
after a steady and silent gaze at it for some minutes,
exclaimed with tears in his voice, " Poor Weston ! " and
then turning to Jewel, with what sounded as a tone of sad
reproach for his own fancied security, "It will very
" soon be poor Foote, or the intelligence of my spirits
" deceives me."
He reached Dover on his way to France on the 20th
October, 1777, attended by one servant. He had sufi'ered
much fatigue on the journey, and next morning at break-
fast was seized with a shivering fit, under which he sank
in three hours. Jewel had at once been sent for, and
arrived only to take charge of the body for removal to
London. But, before he left Dover, he wished to leave
some memorial there of the death of a man so celebrated ;
and this faithful servant and treasurer, who had been for
years in attendance on him, who knew all his weakness,
all his foibles, all that most intimately reveals a man's
nature in the hard money business of the world, could
think of nothing more appropriate for his epitaph in the
church of St. Mary than to express how liberal he was in
spending what too many men use all their care to keep,
and he therefore ordered to be cut upon the marble
nothing about his humour or his genius, about his
writing or his acting, but that he had a hand
Open as day for meltiEg charity.
And so we may leave him. He lies in the cloisters of
Westminster Abbey, without any memorial either in stone
or marble.
INDEX.
Act of TTniformity
Act of Uniformity, its author and its
consequences, 58.
Actors of the " old school," 445.
Foote's anecdote of one, ibid, note.
Addison, Joseph, 76. 109. Exchange
for his Campaign, 113. Appointed
Irish Secretary, 126. 229. His fame
at Will's, 126. Secretaiy of State,
141. His ghost in the Shades, 159.
llealization of his prophecy, ibid and
note. Exalted by Macaulay at
Steele's expense, 160. 161. Feature
in his character noted by Pope, 161.
Swift on his connection with Steele,
162. His reception of Hughes's
proposition and compassionate men-
tion of Steele, 164. Himself and
Steele not to be pitted against each
other, 167. Steele's appointment as
Gazetteer not of his procuring, 169.
Commencement of his contributions
to the Tatler, 170. Steele before
him in criticisms on Milton, 174.
Steele's self- depreciating aftection
for him, 187. Everything good in
the Tatter claimed for him by Ma-
caulay, 1 88 . Finishes one of S teele' s
stories, 192. Paper ascribed to him
really written by Steele, 193. Be-
ginning of his friendship with Steele,
205. Not co-author of the Funeral,
212. His return from Italy and re-
newed intercourse with Steele, 212,
213. His hand in Steele's Tender
Husband, 214. Steele's acknow-
ledgments of his help, 215. How
his commissionership was got, 216.
Shares his lodgings with Steele,
220. His loans to Steele, 221. 222.
Chosen member for Lostwithiel,
224, Period of Swift's greatest in-
timacy with him, 227. Takes part
in the joke on Partridge, 228. Not
likely to have refused aid to Steele,
228, 229. Fails in his attempt to
Apology.
get Steele into oflBce, 229. God-
father to Steele's daughter, ibid.
Not aware of Steele's intention to
issue the Tatler, 230. Sends papers
from Ireland, ibid, note. His praise
of Swift reported to the latter, 232.
Swift's aifected surprise at his altered
tone, 233, 234^ Joins Steele in the
Spectator, 235. His share in the
Roger de Coverley Papers, 236. His
literary niceties, ibid, note. Pre-
paring his €ato, 239. Steele deaf to
his politic warnings, 241. Opposed
by Steele on the Peerage Bill, 245.
252. Probable version of his en-
forcement of Steele's bond, 250.
Continued friendly relations of the
two, 251. His sneer at Steele's
"stagnated pond," 252, 253. Steele's
undiminished regard for him, 253.
His joke about Mandeville the tra-
veller, 258. His Drummer revived
by Foote, 354. See 176. 185. 201.
223. 224. 229 note. 233. 235 note.
Amelia, Princess, turned out of the
Liturgy, 292.
Anderson, Dr., 256.
Anne, Queen, accession of, 95. Her
character : influence of the Duchess
of Marlborough over her, ibid.
Harley's object in placing Abigail
Hill (Mrs. Mash am) about her. 111.
Her generosity to De Foe and his
family, 112. Her interviews with
him, 114. 123. Consequence of the
discovery of her midnight confer-
ences, 125. Her character not quite
understood by the Duchess of Marl-
borough, 126. Formation of her last
administration, 132. Her opinion of
the last prosecution of De Foe, 140.
Annesley, Rev. Dr. and Daniel De
Foe, 59. 88.
Apologxj to the Critical Reviewers, by
Churchill, 277—279.
464
INDEX.
Ap-Eice.
Ap-Rice, Mr. original of Foote's Cad-
wallader, 394. Eevenge taken by
him on Foote, 395. Ganick' s reason
for dissuading him from challenging
Foote, ibid, note.
Apsley, Lady, Dr. Dodd's offered bribe
to, 449.
Armstrong, Dr. John, Satire addressed
to AVilkes by, 284. Sympathy with
it disclaimed by Wilkes, ibid.
Arne, Dr. taken off in Foote's Com-
missary^ 422, Foote's ridicule un-
warrantable, 430.
Ai-nold, Dr. Thomas, on the abuse of
religious liberty, 288.
Atterbury, Francis, Sacheverell sup-
ported by, 131.
Auction of Pictures, The, by Foote,
360. 361. 362. 363. 364. 377.
Author, The, by Churchill, 318, 319.
Author, The, by Foote, 389. 394. 415.
Authors' rights; see Copyright.
Baddeley, the actor, 445.
Baker, David Erskine, De Foe's Grand-
son, 123 note. Author of "Bio-
graphia Dramatica," 155 note.
Baker, Henry, makes acquaintance
with De Foe, 149. His memoranda
thereon, 150. Proposes for De Foe's
daughter, 151. Negotiations for the
marriage, 151 — 154. De Foe's last
letter to him, 157, 158.
Bankrupt, The, by Foote, 429. 432. 441 .
Barbarossa, Bro^vn's Tragedy of, 256.
Barnard, Dr. Provost of Eton, and
Foote, 404.
Barrowby, Dr. Coffee-house sketch of
Foote by, 344. His joke at Foote's
expense, 349.
Barry, the tragedian, 265. 274. 352.
399. 428 note.
Bath,"WilliamPulteney, Lord, sends for
Churchill's Epistle to Hogarth, 305.
His opinion of the Candidate, 321.
Baxter, Eichard, refusal of a bribe
by, 59. His persecution, 61. His
Avritings anathematised, 66. Price
of his liberation from prison, 68.
Beaufort, M. de, 41.
Beaumont and Fletcher, 87. 354.
Their " superior," 446.
Bedford, The, in Covent Garden, 344.
384 and note.
Bedford, Duke of. Lord Lieutenant of
Ireland, and Foote, 399. 443.
Bellamy, Mrs. the actress, 382.
Bellarmine, Cardinal, anathematised,
66.^
Bellievre, M. de, characteristic saying
of Cromwell reported by, 23. 28.
Budgell.
Bentham, Jeremy, condemned by Mr.
Tooke, 256.
Bentinck, Lord "William, Foote at the
table of, 372.
Bentley, Richard, and his Comedy of
The Wishes, 411.
Betterton, the player, 131. 172. 213
note, 373.
Bickerstaff, Isaac ; name used by
Swift in his Partridge Joke, 227,
228. Placed by Steele at the head
of the Tatler, 229.
Birch, Dr. Thomas, Johnson's opinion
of, 256.
Blackmore, Sir Richard, and his Epics,
76.
Blake, Robert, Commonwealth Admi-
ral, 12. His heroism, 21.
Blenheim, Victory of, 112. 215.
Bohn, Mr. H. G., 229 note.
Bolingbroke, Henry Lord. See Saint
John.
Bonaparte, Napoleon, 16.
Bordeaux, M. de, contradicts reports
derogatory to Cromwell, 33, 34. See
also, 43. 45.
Boroughmongering in Churchill' s days,
286.
Bottle-Conjuror Hoax, the, 360, 361.
Boswell, James, 295. 316. 332. 373.
375. 451. Turns the laugh against
Foote, 442, 443 notes. Goes to see
Mrs. Rudd, 448 note.
Bourne, Vincent, usher at Westmin-
ster School, 261.
Boyer, Abel, and De Foe, 141.
Bradshaw, John, republican statesman,
21.
Brady and Tate, 76.
Brieiine, M. de, 33.
Bristol, Frederic, Earl of, recollection
of Churchill by, 262 note. Advan-
tage of his death to the Duchess of
Kingston, 457.
Brocklesby, Dr. ridiculed by Foote,
429.
Brougham, Henry, Lord, Foote a fa-
vourite with, 421.
Brown, Dr. author of Barbarossa,
pitted against Bentham, 256.
Browne, Dr. De Foe's reply to, 60.
Browne, Sir William, mimicked by
Foote, 430. Supplies Foote with the
means of making his portrait exact,
ibid.
Bruce, John, F.S.A. incident in Crom-
well's career discovered by, 25 note.
Buchan, Lord, De Foe and De Foe's
grandson, 123 and note, 155 note.
Buchanan, George, anathematised, 66.
Budgell, Eustace, 230 note.
INDEX.
405
BullocJc.
Bullock, the pWer, Steele's mock cri-
ticism on, 214 note.
Bulwer-Lvtton, Sir E. 148.
Burnet, B'ishop, 76. 82. 87- Vilified
by Sacheverell, 130. What Lord
Halifax said of him, 339.
Burns, Eobert, Foote's unconscious
anticipation of the lot of, 408.
Bussy-Rabutin, anecdote of, 329.
Bute, Lord, a '^r\\\ councillor, 286.
Drift of his system, ibid. Wilkes
persecuted by him, 287. His mar-
vellous rise, 292, 293. Feeling ex-
cited by his pati-onage of his coun-
tn-men, 293. His anxieties : the
JVorth Briton started against him,
293. Effect of the appearance of
the Frojjheci/ of Famine, 295. Break
up of his ministry, 300. A "too
strong" prologue, 411.
Butler, Samuel, and his JIudibras, 51.
Byron, Lord, 260. At Churchill's
grave, 328.
Campaign, The, by Addison, 113. 114.
Campbell, Duncan, Life of, by De Foe,
145.
Campbell, Thomas, on Churchill's
Prophecy of Famine, 295, 296.
Candidate, The, by Churchill, 257. 321.
Capuchin, The, by Foote, 429. 458.
Cardenas, Don Alonzo de, and Oliver
Cromwell, 39. Subvention offered
by him, 45. Still hopeful, 46.
Careless Husband, The, 213 note.
Carleton, Captain, Life of, by De Foe,
145. 148.
Carlyle, Thomas, Cromwell's Cham-
pion at all points, 1. His view of
Cromwell's aims and objects, 4, 5.
28. Followed by L>imartine, 29.
Feature in Cromwell's character
established by him, 32. Letter
authenticated by him, 35. Original
of another Letter, 43. His dubious
references to Cromwell's sons, 52,
53. The point cleared up, 53, 54.
Sentences of De Foe commended to
him, 122 note.
Carmen Secidare, by Prior, 76.
Casaubon, Meric, and Cromwell, 50.
Cassandra, Komanee of, 189.
Castallo, Foote's stage pupil, 359. 445.
Castlemaine, Lady, and her laced
petticoats, 60, 61.
Cato. See Addison.
Cavalier, Memoirs of a, by De Foe,
145. 148.
Cbarles I of England, 16. His exe-
cution vindicated by Cromwell, 34.
Charles II. First effectual demon-
Chur chill.
stratinn against, 62. His end, 66.
Pensioner of France, 79. Morals of
his age, 87. His contributions to
the Peerage, 89. His trials of
Prince George drunk and sober, 125.
Charles X of France, 16.
Chasles, Philarete, 329. His book on
English Eccentricities, 330.
Chesterfield, Lord, Witticism on Lord
Sandwich and Wilkes, by, 300, 301.
Swift's reminder to him, 329. Ob-
jects to Garrick's Bayes, 355. 416.
417. Corresponds with George
Faulkner, 416. Character of his
letters and advice to Faulkner, 417.
419, 420. Congratulates Faulkner
on Foote's loss of a leg, 427. Foote's
meditated burlesque of his Letters.
451.
Chetwood, the Prompter, lines on
Foote preserved by, 357, 358 notes.
Chocolate, YooiQ's, 358. 360.
Christian Hero, The, by Steele, 166.
207. 208. 211.
Churchill, Charles, character of Mr.
Tooke's edition of the Works of,
255 — 260. Edition cited in this
Work, 255 note. His parentage and
birth, 261. His schooldays, 261, 262.
Dr. Lloyd's regard for him, 262.
Celebrities among his schoolfellows,
ibid. His fidelity to them thi'ough
life, 262, 263. Parental mistake in
destining him for the Church, 263,
264. His imprudent marriage :
death-blow to his hopes of college
distinction, 264. Eeceived with his
wife by his father, ibid. Renews
his acquaintance with town plea-
sures, 265. Ordained Deacon and
Priest : his first curacies, ibid. Ekes
out his stipend by school-keeping,
266. Succeeds his father at St.
John's, Westminster, ibid. His em-
ploj-ment in Mrs. Dennis's school,
266, 267. An idle pastor and a
drowsy preacher, 267 and note. His
apostrophe to Bishop AYarburton,
267 note. Mr. Tooke's strange theory
of his life, 267, 268. To be judged
for what he was, 268. Feelings
excited by the literary success of his
friends, 268, 269. Dissipation, debt,
separation from his wife, 269. Re-
pulsed by the booksellers, 269, 270.
Issues The Rosciad at his own cost,
270. Effect produced by its appear-
ance, 270, 271. A character Avith-
out a name, 271, 272. His sketch
of Wedderbume, 272. His portraits
of actors: Yates, Sparks, Smith
466
INDEX.
Cliurchill.
Boss, and Mossop, 273. Barry and
Quin, 274. Havard, Davies, and
Garrick, 275. Consternation of the
players : assumed indifFerence of
Garrick, 276. Blundering guesses
of the Critical Reviewers, 276, 277.
His retaliation upon them in the
shape of An Apology, 277. Its
effect decisive of his power, 277, 279.
His picture of the Strollers, 278,
279. Efforts of Garrick to stand well
with him, 279 and note, 280. Bishop
Warburton's ignorance of his name,
280. Opposition publications and
futile threats, ibid. Yates' s revenge-
ful make-believe, 280, 281. Foote's
wise after-thought and Murphy's
luiwise act, 281. His place in the
pit : effect of his presence on Davies
and on Garrick, 281, 282 and note.
Nature of the notoriety achieved by
him, 282. His out-door bearing
towards his victims, ibid. Costume
assumed by him, 282, 283 and note.
His replies to Dean Pearce's remon-
strances : resigns his pulpit, 283.
Effect of his good fortune on his
family, his creditors and his wife,
ibid. His self-condemnatory con-
fessions, 283, 284. Altered direction
of his satire as indicated in his
Night, 284. Formation of his friend-
ship with Wilkes, 284, 285. Point
of view from which he regarded
the latter, 287. Wilkes's personal
quarrels taken up by him, ibid.
Excuses for his poetical shortcom-
ings, 288. Vices of the day avoided
by him, 289. His style recom-
mended for study, ibid. Character
of his Ghost as a composition, 289,
290. His attack on Whitehead and
notice thereof by the latter, 290 and
note. Why he failed in the octo-
syllabic verse, 291. His dissection
of Bishop Warburton, 291, 292.
Why not a good prose satirist, 294.
Success of his Prophecy of Famine,
ibid. Its effect upon Scotch place-
hunters, 294, 295. Why he dressed
one of his children like a young
Highlander, 295. Boswell and Lord
Mahon's opinion of the Prophecy,
ibid. Thomas Campbell's recommen-
dation of it, 295, 296. Its resem-
blances to works of earlier writers,
296. His description of the Cave of
Famine, 296, 297. Mr. Tooke's
ingenious eulogium, 297, 298. At
the height of his popularity : wishes
of his " most intimate friends," 298.
Clnir chill.
What he might have been had he
avoided satire, 298, 299. His supe-
riority to temptations of power, 299.
"The flamen Churchill," 300. Ex-
tremes of his private life, ibid.
North Briton, No. 45 : warrant
issued for his arrest, 301 . Stratagem
by which Wilkes saved him, 301,
302. Declares war against Hogarth,
302. His letter to Garrick on that
and other topics, 302, 303 notes.
Publishes his Ppistle to William
Hogarth, 303. Its merits and de-
fects, ibid. Weak points in Hogartli' s
character seized on by him, 303, 304.
Eulogises the artist's genius, 304.
Attacks the foibles of the man, 305.
Hogarth's pictorial retort upon liim,
ibid. His portrait at Greenwich,
ibid, note. Dissuaded from his medi-
tated retaliatory Elegy on Hogarth,
305, 306. Story of his illicit love,
306, 307. His poem of the Confer-
ence, 307. His self-accusations and
remorseful avowals therein, 307, 308.
His vices not so great as his virtues,
308. Good Samaritan anecdote re-
lated of him in Chrysal, 309. How
he repaid Dr. Lloyd's generosity,
310. Proofs of his equality to higher
efforts : his description of civilized
and savage life, 311. His Five Ages,
31 1 — 313. A paraphrase from Isaiah,
313. His anathema on "anytJiing
the people in power could do," 314.
Horace Walpole's opinion of his
Duellist, 315. Abandons his inten-
tion of visiting France, ibid. Com-
pliment paid him there at the ex-
pense of an aristocratic Churchill,
315, 316. Why he was able to
accomplish so much, 316. Crabtree
simile applied to him by Dr. John-
son, ibid. His stjde of living in his
last days, 317. His motive for his
reputed, greed of gain, ibid. Cow-
per's tributes to him, poetic and
epistolary, 317, 318 notes. 319. Pub-
lishes his Author : high praise be-
stowed upon it, 318, 319. Subject
of his Gotham, 319. Its merits :
illusti'ative passage, 319, 320. Why
less successful than some of his
Satires, 320. Occasion of his Can-
didate, 321 . His portrait of its hero,
321, 322. His Farewell, Times, and
Independence, 322. His delineation
of a Lord, 322, 323. His portrait of
himself, 323. His unfinished Jour-
ney : half-conscious glinmiering of
his impending fate, 323, 324. Seized
INDEX.
467
CJmrchill.
with fever at Boulogne, 324. His
will, legacies, death, 325. Contem-
porary scandal, ibid. Garrick's cha-
racteristic memoranda, 325, 326 notes.
Sums given for his relics : forged
letters, 326. Issue of "Wilkes's un-
assuageable grief, 326, 327. His
burial place and self-penned epi-
taph, 327, 328. Byron at his grave,
328. What Foote said when level-
ing his blow at him, 334. His allu-
sions to Foote, 359. 397-
Churchill, John, the satirist's brother,
255 note. Mr. Tooke's blunder, 258.
Gibber, Colley, Shakspeare mutilated
by, 173 note. Steele's criticism on
his acting, 213, 214 notes. His laugh
at Steele's detractors, 241. On
Steele's title to the gratitude of the
actors, 243. Original of his Lady
Grace, 333. Foote indebted to him
for hints, 353. His opinion of Gar-
rick's Bayes, 355. His acting re-
produced by Foote, 358.
Gibber, Mrs. the actress, 265. Foote's
joke on her note to Murphy, 388.
Clandestine Marriage., The, 427.
Glarendon, Edward Hyde, Earl of, on
Gromwell's character, 26. 28. His
emplojTnent at He Foe's birth, 58.
Cleveland, Barbara, Duchess of, 66.
Clive, Mrs., 265. 354. Her perform-
ance of Becky, 394. 395.
Gobden, Mr. preceded by De Foe, 109.
Cock, the fashionable auctioneer, ridi-
culed by Foote, 363.
Cock Lane Ghost, the, 375. 418.
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, Mr. Tooke's
condemnation of, 259, 260.
Collier, Jeremy, Short View of, 87.
218.
Collins, "WilKam, at the Bedford in
fine clothes, 348, 349 and notes.
Colraan, George, Churchill's school-
fellow, 262. Alleged unfinished
satire on him, ibid. His early lite-
rary attempt, 263. His success in
literature, 268. Part authorship of
the Rosciad ascribed to him, 277-
"Little Dot," 446, 447. See310. 321.
325. 326. 425. 427 note. 454 7iote. 461.
Colonel Jack., Life of, by De Foe, 145.
147. 148.
Commissary, The, by Foote, 422. 425,
Commonwealth of England, its states-
men and its triumphs, 21.
Gonde, Prince of, and Cromwell, 45.
Conference, The, by Churchill, 307,
308.
Conformity, occasional, object of bill
against, 96.
Cromwell.
Congreve, William, 87. 126. 357. 382,
383. 389. How Harley quieted his
fears as to his pension, 132, 133 and
note. £1200 a-year for him, 141.
Takes Steele into his friendship, 211.
Among the Whigs, 227. Joins in
the joke on Partridge, 228. Com-
pared with Foote, 390.
Connoisseur, The, 384 note. 419 note.
Consolidator, The, by De Foe, 114.
Conventicle Act, severity of the, 58.
Cooke, Thomas, "Hesiod Cooke," sin-
gular introduction of Foote by, 339.
344. His way of living, 340.
Cooke, William, " Conversation Cooke,"
EecoUections of Foote, bv, 347. 348.
367. 372. 376.426.460. mnote.^Ql,
On George Faulkner's habits, 417.
Goote, Mr. afterwards Lord Belmont,
Foote agreeably disappointed in, 448.
Copyright, De Foe's arguments for
protection of, 105, 106 notes. 127,
and note 2. Mr. Charles Reade's
Eighth Commandment, 107 note.
Serjeant Talfourd's illustration, 155,
note 2. Steele's plea for authors,
201. See Translation.
Gowper, William, Earl, 117. Eeceives
the great seal, 125. Will not join
Harley, 132.
Cowper, William, the Poet, 'Churchill's
kindness repaid by, 262. His tributes
to Chui-chill's genius, 317, 318 notes.
319
Cozeners, The, by Foote, 429. 448.
Crabbe, George, Sir W. Scott's favourite
passage in the poems of, 278.
Critical Review, The, and Churchill,
276, 277.
Croly, Rev. Dr. 259.
Cromwell, Henry, 47 note.
Cromwell, James, 152.
Cromwell, Oliver, earlier distortions of
the character of, 1. Macaulay and
Hume's estimates; Carlyle's cham-
pionship, ibid. Guizot's written
portrait, 1, 2. His various aspects
in history : Southey's picture of his
remorse, 2, 3. His character under
a higher aspect, 3. Author's past and
present views, 4 and note. Carlyle's
estimate of his aims and objects, 4,
5. Guizot's view of his character and
designs, 5—7. Moral of Guizot's
book, 7, 8. His relationship to-
wards Milton, 20. His genius for
government, 22. How he brought
the people to his side, 22, 23.
Source of his greatness, 23. What
gave rise to Cardinal de Retz's
"contempt" for him, 23, 24. 'His
H H 2
468
INDEX.
Cromwell.
remembrance of the Cardinal's com-
pliment, 24. His ambition at setting
out to what end directed, 24, 25.
His conduct in early life, 25. In-
cident in his career discovered by-
Mr. Bruce, ibid., note. Origin of his
regiment of Ironsides, 26. Anxious
only for the duty of the hour, ibid.
Development of his opportunities:
his religious creed, 26, 27. No
hypocrite or schemer at this season
of his life, 27. His country's glory
reflected in his, ibid. Always rising
with the occasion, 27, 28. What
impelled him to dissolve the Long
Parliament, 28. His religious im-
pulses misunderstood by Guizot and
Lamartine, 28, 29. Probable ideal
of his form of government, 31. M.
Guizot' s view of his use of Scripture
phraseology, 31, 32. Feature in his
character established by Mr. Carlyle,
32, 33. Certain anecdotes related of
him no proof that he was fanatic or
hypocrite, 33, 34. His projects for
religious toleration, 34. Evidence
of his true piety and nobility of soul,
34, 35. His conduct in Ely Cathe-
dral justified, 35. Instances of his
zeal for freedom of conscience, 35,
36. How his faith stood the test at
great crises, 36, 37. Cofferer Maid-
stone's testimony, 37, 38. Character
of Guizot' s estimate, 38. Cromwell's
tribute to the Long Parliament, 38,
39. Light thrown upon his foreign
policy by M. Guizot, 39. 46. His
countenance sought by French poli-
ticians, 40. De Ketz and Mazarin
bidders for his favour, 40, 41. Na-
ture of his relations with Mazarin,
41 — 43. Interchange of presents
between them, 43. Mazarin no
match for him, 43, 44. Main objects
of his foreign policy, 44. His
bearing towards the Catholic powers,
ibid, and note. Sends an ambassa-
dor's brother to the scaffold, 45.
Eagerness of foreign powers for his
alliance, ibid. 45. 47. His attitude
towards Spain and attack on her
colonies, 46. His treaty with France :
point insisted on by hira, 46, 47.
Reception of his ambassador by
Louis XIV and his minister, 47 and
note. Failure of his Parliaments,
48. His expedient for taxation,
48, 49. His kingship at its last, 49.
Cause of his dying sorrows, ibid.
Character of his despotism, 50. His
zeal for literature and patronage of
Davies.
learned men, 50, 51. His letter to
AValler on his Panegyric, ibid., notes.
His amusements and treatment of
his guests, 51. Royalist slander on
his conjugal fidelity, 51, 52. Affec-
tion between himself and wife, 52.
Confusion relative to his eldest son,
53. Passage reproduced by the au-
thor and point cleared up by it, 53,
54. Proof as to the son really al-
luded to by him on his death-bed,
54. The only Vir honorandus in
Felsted Parisn Register, 55. Place
ofhis marriage, 158^0^6. '^ee Crom-
well, James. Cromwell, Oliver, the
younger. Cromwell, Richard. Crom-
well, Robert. Guizot.
Cromwell, Oliver, the younger, birth
of, 52. Killed m battle, when ? 52,
53. Confounded with his brother
Robert, 54. The error rectified, ibid.
Cromwell, Richard, Guizot' s History
of, and its English version, 8 note. 18.
bb. Object contemplated by his ad-
herents, 29, 30.
Cromwell, Robert, birth of, 52. Mr.
Carlyle* s notice of him, 53. His
father's death-bed allusion to him,
53, 54. Mistake of Carlyle and
Guizot on this head, 54. Remar-
kable addition to the entry of his
burial, ibid, and note.
Crossley, Mr. on De Foe's Mercator,
138 note.
Croulle, M. and Cromwell, 39, 40.
Crusoe ; see Robinson Crusoe.
Cudworth, Ralph, and Cromwell, 50.
Cullum, Sir John, MS. note on
Churchill by, 261, 262 notes.
Cumberland, William, Duke of, turned
out of the Liturgy, 292.
Cumberland, Henry, Duke of, 336. 441
• note.
Cumberland, Richard, Churchill's
schoolfellow, 262. 263. 404. 411.
412. 417. 435. 461.
Cunningham, Mr. Peter, 261 note. 290
note. 377 note. 422 note.
Cutler, Sir John, the miser, 364.
Cutts, Lord, Steele's friend, 207- 211.
Dashwood, Sir Francis, in office under
Bute, 292. Created a peer, 300.
Davenant, Sir William, permitted by
Cromwell to open a theatre, 51.
Character of his entertainments, 357.
Davies, Tom, Mr. Tooke's blunder
regarding, 258. Churchill's lines
upon him, 275. 276. On Smollett's
fear of Churchill, 279. His apology
for disconcerting Garrick, 281. On
INDEX.
469
Be Foe.
Churchill's last words, 325. On the
terror inspired by Foote, 331. On
Foote's performance of Bajes, 356,
and of Fondlewife, 358. 411.
De Foe, Daniel, failure of attempts at
Complete Editions of the works of,
57. No niche assigned to him in
English history, ibid. How his life
should be Avri'tten, 58. Period of
his birth, and aspect of the times,
ibid. His youthful transcript of the
Pentateuch, 59. His Schools and
Schoolmasters: A "boxing English
boy," 60. His reply to assailants
of his education, ibid, and note, 61.
Lessons taught him by the events
of his youth, ibid. A listener to
Titus Oates's harangues, 62. His
remembrance of Oates, and disbelief
in Ms Popish Plot, 62, 63. His
Protestant flail and its uses, 63 and
note. His joke at the expense of
anti- Papist alarmists, 64. His first
entry into business, ibid. His first
impulse to authorship, %o. Query
as to same, ibid, note. Idea sug-
gested to him by the altar-piece at
AVindsor, 66. Why he joined the
Duke of Monmouth, 67. Escapes
the clutch of Jefl'reys, ibid. Pre-
fixes the De to his name, 68. Scene
witnessed by him on his return
home, ibid. Warns the Dissenters
of the trap set for them, 69. His
reflections on their disregard of his
advice, 69, 70. Among the foremost
welcomers of William of Orange,
70. Oldmixon's sarcastic reference
to him on this occasion, 70, 71
notes. His lifelong reverence for
William, and how he exhibited it,
71, 72. His marriages, 72. His
bankruptcy : denounces imprison-
ment for debt, 72, 73. Improve-
ments in this direction due to him,
73. State of things previous there-
to, ibid, note. His Bristol retreat :
the Sunday Gentleman, 73, 74.
Mark Watkins's Stories, 74 note.
His Essay on Projects, and sug-
gestions embodied therein, 74, 75.
His design for an Academy of
Letters, 76. Xoble words on women,
77. His honourable conduct to his
creditors, 77, 78. In government
employ, 78. His tile-kilns, ibid.
His waterside recreations and their
lessons, 78, 79. Phenomenon ia
natural history observed by him,
79 note. His indignant rebuke to
King William's detractors, 80, 81.
De Foe.
An enforcer of Whig principles, 82,
83. Has audiences of the king and
queen, 83, 84. No insulter of fallen
greatness, 84. Direction in Avhich
his powers were limited, 85. Assails
class legislation, 86. Falls into
disgrace with the Dissenters, 86,
87. Character of his attacks upon
the stage, 87. General character of
his poetry, 88. Occasion of his
Trueborn Fnglisliman, ibid. Its
theme and merits, 89. Popularity
and lasting results of the poem, 89,
90. Its author taken into the king's
confidence, 99. Permanent value
of his pamphlet on Popular Eepre-
sentation, 90, 91. Samples of its
reasoning, 90 — 92 notes. Presents
the Legion Memorial to Harley, 93.
Commission assigned to him by
William, ibid. Sketch of the Pro-
ject : how frustrated, 93, 94 notes.
His poem on the king's death, 94.
His rebuke to Lord Haversham, 94,
95. 117, 118. William's champion
to the last, 95. His attitude on the
Occasional Conformity Bill, 96. His
social and pecuniary position at the
time, 97. His Shortest Way with the
Dissenters : its scope and execution,
ibid. Illustrative passage, 98. Its
drift unperceived by both parties,
ibid. Their rage on discovering it,
98, 99. Trouble it brought him
into, 99. Proclamation against him,
ibid, and note. His trial and sen-
tence, 100, 101. His subsequent
comments on his prosecuting coun-
sel, ibid, notes. Prepares for his
punishment: his Hymn to the Pil-
lory, 102. His exposure therein,
and reception by the populace, 102,
103. Ned Ward's Tory testimony,
103. Eetums to Newgate, ibid.
Pope's unjust attack upon him, ibid.
and note. Charactei of his writings
while in Newgate, 104. How he
off'ended a pirate printer, ibid. True
and false portraits of him, 104, 105.
His publications during his im-
prisonment, 105. His arguments
for protection of copyright, 105, 106
notes. 127 and note 2. Sets up his
Review, 106. Its novelty, duration,
character, and objects, 106 — 109.
Himself the leader of the Avay for
the Tatlers and Spectators, 109, 110.
Unwelcome fruits of the success of
his Review, 110. 116, 117. Price at
which he scorned to come out of
Newgate, 111. Haiiey's message,
470
INDEX.
JDe Foe.
and Ms reply thereto, 111, 112.
Queen Anne's generosity to himself
and family, 112. Tactics of his
enemies alter his release, ibid, and
notes. His and Addison's poems on
the Blenheim victory, 112, 113.
His acknowledgments of Halifax's
proffered services, 113. Harley's
wariness in deaKng with him, ibid.
His unforgiven fling at Addison,
114 and note. Introduced to the
queen, 114. Closeted with Harley :
their discussions, 114, 115. His
continental services, 115. Object
of, and lines from, his Diet of
Poland^ ibid., note. His success in
electioneering, 115, 116. Daniel De
Foe and the Devil at Leapfrog, 116
and note 1. His vindication of
Marlborough : how noted by the
Duke, ibid, note 2. His answer to
the charge of writing for bread, 118,
and note. His Giving Alms no
Charity, and other philanthropic
writings, 118, 119. His JureDivino
published, and pirated, 119. Libel
on him in connection therewith,
ibid, note. His device for promoting
the sale of Drelincourt on Death,
119—123. Extent of his belief in
supernatural agencies, 120 — 122
notes. His second introduction to
Queen Anne, 123. Negotiates the
Scottish Union : friendships then
made by him, ibid. Opinions then
formed by him of Scotland and the
Scots, 123, 124. Swift's malignant
sneer at him, 126. What intensified
Swift's hatred of him, 127 note.
His relations with the Government
on Harley's loss of office, 127, 128.
His own version of his interview
with the Queen and Godolphin, 128
note. Again enlisted in party war-
fare, 128, 129. His warning to
impartial writers, and rebuke to a
Tory mob, 129. Continued industry
of his persecutors, ibid. Sweden
and Russia plaintiffs against him,
129, 130. His feeling relative to
Sacheverell's impeachment, 130, 131.
His account of the excitement con-
sequent thereon, 131. On Swift's
vituperation of Steele, ibid, note.
Abused in Sacheverell's defence,
132. His compact with Harley, 133.
A supporter of Eevolution principles
at all hazards, 133, 134. Contrast
between himself and Swift, 134, 135.
His rule of conduct in political con-
troversy, ibid, notes. His reply to
the charge of being a writer for
place, 136. Eailers at governments
characterised by him, 136, IS7 notes.
Extent to which he supported Har-
ley and Bolingbroke, 137, 138.
Questions on which he opposed
them, 138, 139. His argument for
Free Trade, 138, and note. His
three anti-Jacobite pamphlets, 139.
Blindness of the Wbigs to their
drift, 139, 140. Sent to prison for
publishing them, 140. Close of his
political labours, ibid. Establish-
ment of the principles he advocated :
a last word for Harley, 141. Value
of his character and example, 141,
142. His own revieAv of his career,
142. On the quahties needed in a
public writer, 143. His moral and
religious works : his History of the
Devil, ibid. His Complete English
Tradesman, 144. His publications
on domestic and social economy,
ibid. His attack on the Beggar's
Opera and a Jack Sheppard drama,
144, 145 notes. Pope's self-accusing
confession of his merits, 145. His
narratives and fictions, ibid. Pre-
eminence of his Robinson Crusoe :
secret of its fascination, 145 — 147.
Source of the story, 192. Himself
the type of his hero, 146, 147 notes.
Character of his History of the
Plague, Moll Flanders, Colonel Jack,
and Roxana, 147, 148. His books
accepted as veritable histories, 148.
Father of English novelists, ibid.
His house and its subsequent occu-
pants, 149 note. Story of an Ameri-
can pilgrimage to it, 149, 150 notes.
Glimpses at him in his retirement,
149, 150. Negotiations concerning
his daughter's marriage portion,
151 — 153. His explanatory letter
on the occasion, 153, 154. A tribute
to his charitableness, 154. His last
(unfinished) labour for the press,
155. Price realised in 1860 for the
MS. thereof, ibid, note 1. Eeverse
of fortune in his last days: his
touching letter thereon, 156, 157.
Valedictory passages from his letter :
his death, 158. Precise locality of
his death, ibid, note. See 165 note.
170. Additional letters, see Preface,
pp. IV. — VI.
De Foe, J
James, Daniel's great grand-
son, 156 note. Result of efforts for
his relief, 157 note. His death, ibid.
Delane, the actor, mimicked by Foote,
360.
INDEX.
471
Delaval.
Delaval, Lord, and ) Foote's friends,
Delaval, Sir Francis j 335. 388. Their
suggestion adopted by Foote, 351.
Private Theatricals, 352. Walpole's
sciindalous story and comments on
their playing, 376 note. Sir Francis's
fortuue-telling, 398.
Dennis, John, the critic, 109. 213.
Deuni.-, Mrs. Churchill's employment
in the school of, 266, 267.
De Retz ; vsee Retz.
JJevil^ Political History of the, by De
Foe, 143.
Devil upon Two Sticks, The, by Foote,
429. 430. 461.
Devonshire, Duke of, Lord Chamber-
lain, suppresses 'Foote's, Author, Z'do.
His after-concession, ibid. His con-
duct relative to The Minor, 403.
D'Ewes, Sir Simonds, Cromwell's
character elucidated bv, 25.
Dickens, Charles, 148. 156 note. 410.
Diet of Poland, by De Foe, 115 and
note.
Disraeli, Benjamin, 286 note.
Dissenters, Effect of persecution upon,
58. Consequences of the Conven-
ticle Act, 58, 59. Object of James II
in relaxing laws against them, 68.
De Foe's advice, 69. How they re-
garded it and him, ibid.
Diversions of the Morning, by Foote,
356. 362. 377. 399.
Dodd, Kev. Dr. William, takes Lord
Sandwich's mistress off his hands,
A2^note. Satirized in Foote's Core-
ners, 448. 449. Foote's portraiture
of him and his wife, 450. Offers
a bribe to Lady Apsley, 449, 450.
His appeal, 450 note.
Dodiugton, Bubb, political system of,
286. Created a Peer, 292. His
qualified congratulations to Bute on
Pitt's dismissal, 293. At the re-
hearsal of Bentley's Wishes, 411.
Satirized in Foote's Patron, 412. 391.
Doggett the comedian, instance of
Steele's good nature to, 243 and wo^e.
Drake, Dr., wrong in ascribing an
epilogue to Steele, 250 note.
Drelincourt on Death, De Foe's ruse
for promoting sale of, 119 — 123.
Drummer, The, by Addison, 354.
Drury Lane Theatre, Steele supervisor
of, 242. 245. Its corps dramatique
in Churchill's days, 265. Cause of a
riot there, 407 note.
DrvHen, John, 65. 76. 84. 126. 211.
256. 261. 263. 288. 289. 296. 319.
" Great high priest of all the Nine,"
• 320. Burlesqued as Bayes, 355.
Finch.
Duellist, The, bv Churchill, 257. 315.
Dumb Philosopher, The, by De Foe,
145.
Dunbar, Cromwell at, 37.
Dunning, afterwards Lord Ashburton,
457. Foote's counsel, 460.
Dunton, John, tribute to De Foe by,
117.
Durham University and Cromwell, 50.
Dyce, Rev. A., Rogers's Table Talk,
collected by, 369 note.
Dyckvelt, agent of William III, 70.
Eastcourt, Richard, Comedian, 213
note, 214. Passages from Steele on
his death, 181 note. 238 note. An
imitator of other actors, 357-
Edge\\-orth, Miss, and the Grand Pan-
jandrum, 386.
Edwin, the actor, 445.
Eliot, Lord, on Foote's Chesterfield
Letters project, 451.
Eliot, Sii- John, 261.
Englishman, The, by Steele, 240.
Englishman in Paris, The, and The
Englishman Returned from Paris,
by Foote, 381. 382.
English Tradesman, The, by De Foe,
144.
Epistle to Hogarth, by Churchill, 303
—305. 307.
Essay on Projects, by De Foe, 74. 78
note.
Essay on Woman, by Wilkes, 314, 315.
Essex, Lord, at Halifax's dinner table,
232.
Eveh-n, John, 66. 87.
Examiner, The, by Swift, 134. 233.
Fagg, Sir John, De Foe's host, 97 note.
Family Instructor, The, by De Foe, 143.
Farewell, The, by Churchill, 322.
Farquhar, George, original of the Jus-
tice Balance of, 333.
Fauconberg, Lord, piincely reception
of, by Louis XTV and Mazarin, 47
and note.
Faulkner, George, Publisher and AI-
dennan of Dublin, 416. His con-
temporaries' opinion of him, 417.
Ridiculed by Foote as Peter Para-
graph, 417, 418. His action against
Foote, 419, 420. Foote brought to a
level with him, 427. 443.
Fielding, Henry, 148. His picture of
Addison and Steele in the Shades,
159. Followed by Foote, 357.
Fielding, Sir John, 391.
Findlater, Lord, proposes dissolution.
of Scottish Union, 137.
Finch, Lord, anecdote of, 242.
472
INDEX.
Fishe.
Fishe, Capt. Steele's bon-mot on, 249.
Foe, James (Daniel De Foe's father),
social position of, 59. His character,
ibid and note, Not neglectful of his
son's education, 59, 60.
Fitzherberts, the, friends of Johnson
and Foote, 374. 3/6. 430.
Foote, Samuel, 265. Suppresses his
lampoon on Churchill, 281. Type
of English humour and satire, 330.
Contemporary estimation of him,
331. His aim in his labours : what
he said of them himself, 331, 332.
What he is now regarded as, 332.
Dr. Johnson's dictum ibid, and note.
Scott and Macaulay's depreciatory
judgments, 332, 333. Macaulay's
illustration anticipated, 333. Occa-
sional violations of his own rule,
ibid. On the public appetite for
satire, 334. Causes of his satirical
transgressions, 334. 339. Object of
this Essay, 334, 335. Specimens of
his jokes : at White's Club : on
Macklin : taking himself off, 335.
on Lord Stormont's wine glasses:
on Hugh Kelly: on an easy lady's
memory, 336. On the Cornish par-
son's glebe : his derivation of idea :
on his poetising friends, 337. Com-
parison of his wit Mitli that of Quia
and Garrick, 337, 338. Dr. John-
son's definition of his humour, 338.
Faculty denied to him by the doctor,
339. His advice to O'Keeffe, ibid.
Hesiod Cooke's singular introduction
of him to his Club, 339. 344. Cooke's
probable motive, 340. Foote' s birth
and parentage, ibid. Character of
his mother, ibid. note. His ancestry,
341 and note. His education : school
pranks and their consequences, 341,
342. Cause of his quitting Oxford,
342. What led to his being destined
for the law, 342, 343. His two
uncles, murdered and murderer, 343,
344. His morning lounge, 344. His
debtit at the Bedford: impression
made by him there, 344, 345. Asto-
nishes Dr. Miles, 345. In the Fleet
prison, ibid. His extravagances and
their upshot, 345. Pamphlet on the
murder of his uncle ascribed to him,
345, 346. His authorship an ascer-
tained fact, 346 note. Incentive to
his writing the pamphlet, 346, 347.
His stockingless state accounted for,
347. Confused items in Conversa-
tion Cooke's Memoirs of him, ibid.
His alleged marriage and its attend-
ant mystery, 347, 348. His excuse
Foote.
for bachelorhood, 348. Again living
on his wits, ibid. Dr. Barrowby's
laugh at him, 349. His first acquaint-
ance with GaiTick, ibid. Side taken
by him in the actors' quarrel, 350.
Extent of his difi'erence with Gar-
rick, 351. Merit of his dramatic
criticisms, ibid, and note. Kesolves
on taking to the stage, 351, 352.
Joins Macklin at the Haymarket,
352. Keception of his Othello, 352,
353. Goesto Dublin, 353. Installed
at Drury Lane, ibid. His jokes on
Irish subjects, 353, 354. Parts
enacted by him at Drury Lane, 354.
His principle of selection, ibid. His
personal appearance, 355. Question
of his future career decided, ibid.
Portraits of him, ibid, and note.
Novelties introduced into his per-
formance of Bayes, 356. Character
©f his new Diversions at the Hay-
market, 356, 357. Dubbed the Eng-
lish Aristophanes, 357. Licensing
Act put in force against him, 357,
358. Animosity excited by his suc-
cess, ibid, notes. His device for
defeating his opponents, 358. His
Morning Chocolate : the actors si-
lenced, 359, 360. His Chocolate
changed into Tea, 360. His Covent
Garden performances and Auction
of Pictures., ibid. His precautions
relative to the Bottle Conjuror Hoax,
361. New lots for his Auction, ibid.
His portrait of an auctioneer, 361,
362. Palliatory plea for the line
taken by him, 363, 364. Characters
in his first published piece. The
Knights : Sii* Penurious Trifle, 364,
365. Sir Gregory Gazette, 365—367.
Woodward's projected burlesque
upon him, 367, 368. Cross-fire
thereon between himself and Gar-
rick, 368. Eesult of Woodward's
experiment, ibid. Fitfulness of his
intercourse with Garrick, 368, 369.
His Pitt joke on Garrick, 369. His
flings at Garrick' s reputed parsi-
mony, 369 — 372. Principle of joking
laid down by him, 372. Agreeably
surprises Charles Fox, 372, 373. Dr.
Johnson on his powers of fascination,
373. His humorous defence of non-
payment of debts, 373, 374. His
first introduction to Johnson, 374.
His Cock-Lane Ghost threat, 374,
375. Witticisms on the Rocking-
ham Ministry and on Lord Lough-
borough, 375. What Johnson said
on his death, ibid. note. His small-
INDEX.
473
Fooie.
beer sleeping partnership, 375, 376.
His motto on acceding to Ms third
fortune, 376. Scandalous story told
of him by Walpole, ibid, note.
Port more common in his kitchen,
than beer, 377. His trips to France,
ibid. His Comedy of Taste : for
whose benefit produced, 377, 378.
Its real design, 378. Characters of
Carmine, Puft', and Ladv Pent-
weazel, 378—381. Eeturns to the
stage : his Englishman in Paris, 381,
382. Brace of incidents turned to
account by him, 381. Successful
prologue written for him by Garrick,
381, 382. His rumoured execution
in France, 382 ^ote. Object of his
Englishman in Paris and his Eng-
lishman returned from Paris, 382 —
384. Resumes his old place at the
Bedford, 384 and note. Freedoms
taken by him with Macklin, 385.
His Grand Panjandrum puzzle, 386.
How he turned Macklin' s notion to
profit, 386, 387. Growth of his inti-
macy with Murphy, 387. His joke
on 5[urphy's tragedy, 388. Mur-
phy's complaints against and un-
complimentary sketch of him, 388,
389. Character of his Author, 389.
Absence of pretence in his writings,
389, 390. In what he resembled
Aristophanes, 390, 391. His cha-
racters of Mr. Yamp, Master Cape,
and Mr. Cadwallader, and his own
delineation of the last, 391—394.
Eevenge taken upon him by Mr.
Ap-Rice (original of Cadwallader),
394, 395. Amends made to him by
the Lord Chamberlain, 395. "Why
Garrick dissuaded Ap-Eice from chal-
lenging him, ibid, note. Reception
of his Minor in Dublin, 395, 396:
399. Tate Wilkinson's recollection
and successful mimickrv of him,
396—398. His fortune-telling frolic
in Dublin, 398. His argument
against the exclusion of fanatics
from satire, 399, 400. Present at
"SMiitfield's preachings, 401. Point
aimed at in his Minor, 401, 402.
His character of Mrs. Cole, 402.
Result of attempts to stop the Minor,
403. His defence of the stage and
public amusements, 403, 404. 405.
A welcome guest at Eton, 404. 425
and note. His contrast between
permitted and authorised perfonn-
ances, 405. His characters of Trans-
fer and Smii'k, 406, 407. His own
pei'formance of Smirk, 406 note.
Foote.
Sam Shift and his original, 407, 408.
His exact anticipation of a great
Eoet's fate, 408. Truth to nature of
is portraits of the Wealthys, 408,
409. Joins Murphy at Drury Lane :
produces his Liar, ibid. 409. Sketch
of its chief character, 410, 411. Occa-
sion of his Patron and original of
Sir Thomas Lofty, 412—414. Cha-
racters of Mr. Martin Rust, 414, 415.
Puft' and Dactyl, 414—416. Pro-
duces the Orators, 416. Original
of his Peter Paragraph and sketch
of the character, 417 — il9. Result
of Faulkner's action against him,
419, 420. His bon mot upon, the
Duke of Newcastle, 420. Produc-
tion of his JIagor of Garrett, ibid.
Sketch of its chief characters, 420,
421. Aim of his Commissary, 422.
Character of ^Mrs. Mechlin, 422 —
424. Her parallel in real life, 424,
425. His fortune and repute at
their height, 425. His courtesies
towards literary men, 426. His
Warburton joke at Eton, ibid, note.
Loses his leg : his kindly letters and
reflections on the occasion, 426, 427
and notes. Even now with old
Faulkner, 427. Shape taken by the
King's concern on. his behalf, 427,
428. His career after his recovery :
his "trifle of a leg," 428 and note.
His Devil on Two Sticks, 429.
Morale of his satire on the practice
of physic, ibid, note 1. His hits at
Mrs. Macauley, 429, 430 and notes.
Defect in his portraiture supplied
by one of his victims, 430. Apo-
thecary Apozem and Kit Cabbage,
ihid. Game hit at in his Lame
Lover, 431. Multiplicity of his jokes
against attorneys, ibid, note 1. His
famous case of Hobson versus Nob-
son, 431 note 2. Foibles and vices
ridiculed in his Bankrupt, 432, 433.
441, 442. His own performance of
Sir Luke Limp, 433, 434. Objec-_
tionable feature of his Maid of
Bath : merit of the piece, 435. Par-
ticular vice ridiculed in his Nabob,
435 — 437. Incident connected with
the run of this piece, 438. His
Puppet Show and Pietg in Pattens,
438, 439 and notes. Coolness and
reconciliation between himself and
Garrick, 439, 440 and notes. Evi-
dences of a renewed kindly inter-
course, 440, 441 and notes. His last
visits to Scotland, 442, 443. His
fling at Scotch parsimony, 442 note.
474
INDEX.
Toote.
Boswell's Roland for Ms Oliver, 443
note. His farewell to, and pleasant
reminiscences of Ireland, 443. His
Dublin dinners : his sarcoj^/^firgus
friend, 444. His courtesies towards
and popularity among actors, 444 —
446. His favourite Weston, 445
note. 462. Saved from the flames,
446. His characteristic letter from
Dublin, 446, 447. His complimentary
estimate of Coote, Lord Belmont,
448. Vices pointed at in his Co-
zeners., ibid. Originals of Mrs.
Fleec'em, Toby, and Dr. Simony,
448 — 451. A scene from the Cozeners,
449 note. His meditated burlesque
of Chesterfield's Letters, 45L Con-
scious of coming infirmities : desires
recreation, 451, 452. His Trip to
Calais and the Duchess of Kingston,
452. Not to be bought off", 452, 453
notes. 454 and note. Result of his
interview with the Lord Chamber-
lain, 453. Virulence of newspaper
assaults uponhim,454,455. His prof-
fered concessions how received by
the Duchess, 455, 456. Her abusive
letter and his masterly reply, 455 —
457 and notes. Contemporary opi-
nions of the letters, 457. Gibbets
the Duchess's scribe in the Capuchin,
458. Reception accorded to the
piece, ibid. Character of the libels
against him, 458, 459. Last villany
of his convicted libeller and its
issue, 459, 460. His reply to a
King's question, 460 note. His
emotion on the defeat of his accusers,
461. His wit at the Queen's Draw-
ing Room, and last stage appear-
ance, ibid. List of his dramatic
pieces, 461 note. Presentiments
called up by Weston's portrait, 462.
His death : Jewel's tribute to his
memory : last resting-place, ibid.
Foreigners, The, by Tutchin, 88.
Forstt-r's Life of Goldsmith, references
to, 107 note. 155 note 2. 411 note.
Foster, Rev, Mr. and Foote and the
Duchess of Kingston, 454 note.
Fox, Charles James, agreeably de-
ceived in Foote, 372, 373. Dupe to
a marriage agent, 424. 425 note.
The incident transferred to the
stage, 448. 449 and note.
Fox, Sir Stephen, John Howe's grum-
blings silenced by, 137 note.
France and Frenchmen a hundred
years ago, 383, 384.
Francklin, Dr. Thomas, Mr. Tooke's
exaltation of, 256.
Garrick.
Franklin, Benjamin, and De Foe's
Essay on Projects, 74.
Funeral, The, by Steele, 215.
Garrick, David, 265. Leader of the
Drury Lane Riots against him,
271. Churchill's panegyric on him,
275. His assumed indifference, 276.
Warned by Churchill, 277. His
admiration of Chui-chill's Strollers,
278. Solicits Lloyd's intercession
with Churchill, 279 and note. His
confession to Lloyd, 280. Da^-ies'
deprecating letter to him, 281.
Influence of Churchill's presence on
his acting, 281, 282. His "love to
Churchill," 282 note. Churchiirs
letter to him for money and on his
projected Satires, 302, 303 notes.
His opinion of Churchill's Satire on
Hogarth, 305. On Churchill as a
ruin, 308. On Cliurchill's fatal ill-
n'^ss, 325. His prudential letter on
Churchill's death, ibid, note. On
Foote's "wonderful abilities," 331.
His wit compared with Foote's, 337,
338. His transition from the wine-
cellar to theatrical eminence, 349,
350. Professional jealousy at his
success, 350. Extent of Foote's
difference with him, 350, 351. His
rupture with Macklin, 351. Joke
perpetrated on his Othello, 352.
The public against the critics in his
performance of Bayes, 355, 356.
His idea enlarged by Foote, 356,
357. His reply to Foote's complaint
relative to Woodward, 368. Fitful-
ness of his intercourse with Foote,
368, 369. Foote's play upon his pro-
fessional sensitiveness, 369. Foote's
jokes upon his reputed parsimony,
369—372. Direction in which Foote
had the advantage over him, 372. His
defence of prudence upset by Foote,
373, 374. Comedy given to*^ him by
Foote, 377. 381. His meeting with
Foote in France, 381. His Prologue
to Foote's Englishman in Paris, 381,
382. Why lie dissuaded Mr. Ap-
Rice from challenging Foote, 395
rmte. At Whitfield's preachings,
401. Foote's grateful letters to him,
426, 427 and notes. His Stratford
Jubilee laughed at by Foote, 439.
Coolness and reconciliation, 439, 440
and notes. Evidences of a kindly
understanding between them at this
time, 440, 441, and notes. Talking
over an Actress, 444. See 403. 407
note. 435. 438 ^wi"^. 441. 445 and «o^^.
INDEX.
475
l- Garrich.
■ 446. 451. 452. 452 note, idimte. 459
note. 460.
Garrick, George (David's brother),
325 note. 438.
Garrick Club Portrait Gallery, 355.
Garth, Sir Samuel, 76. 126. 257, 258.
Ga\-, John, and De Foe, 144, 145 notes.
His eulogium on the Tatler, 231.
Followed by Foote, 357.
George the Third, benefit conferred on
Foote by, 427, 428. Foote' s reply
to his question, 460 note.
George, Prince of Denmark (Queen
Anne's husband) anecdote of, 96.
R What Charles II said of him, 125.
I Suspicion excited by an obseryation
of his, ibid. His death, 126. Steele
his Gentleman Usher, 218. 222.
Ghost, The, by ChurchiU, 257. 289.
290 and note.
Giving Alms no Charity, by De Foe,
118.
Godolphin, Sidney Godolphin, Earl of,
double dealing of, 76. Made Lord
Treasurer, 95. Harlev and St. John
I in office with him, ilO, 111. As-
sailed for carrying the Scottish
Union, 123. Sacheverell's attack
upon him, 130. Superseded by Har-
ley, 132. His counsel to De Foe, 133.
Godwin (or Goodwin), Thomas, ana-
thematised, 66.
Godwin, William, 148.
Goldsmith, Oliyer, 143. 148. 214. 310.
410. 416. 426. 439. 446. ^eeForster.
Goodere, Sir Edward, Foote' s maternal
grandfather, 341.
Goodere, Sir John Dineley, murdered
by his brother, 343. The murderer's
plan, defence, and fate, 343, 344.
Account of the tragedy, published
by Foote, 345, 346 and notes.
Gotham, by Churchill, 319, 320.
Gower, Dr. Foote's jokes upon, 342.
Grafton, Duke of, 301. Remembered
in Churchill's will, 325.
Grand Cyrus, Romance of, 189.
Gray, Thomas, 277- 281 note. 426.
"dirty boys" remembered by him,
300. '
Grays Inn Journal, The, 387.
Green, Thomas, joke of Foote, related
by, 426 note.
Grenville, Hon. George, moves the
burning of the North Briton, 313.
Guardian, The ; see Steele.
Guizot, FranQois PieiTe Guillaume,
works on Cromwell and the English
Republic by, 1. Eflfect of his own
share in revolutions on his estimate
of Cromwell, 5, 6. His view of Crom-
Halifax.
■well's career and aims, 6, 7. His
closing sentence, 7, 8. Shortcomings
of his translator, 8. His style con-
trasted with his translator's, 9, 10.
Specimens of faulty translation, 10 —
13. Influence of recent events upon
his narrative, 14, 15. Opening pas-
sages of his Histoire de la Ee'pub-
lique d' Angleterre, 14 note. Step
taken by his mother after his father's
execution, 15. His early literary
successes, ihid. Translates Gibbon :
appointed Professor of History, 16.
His political creed and practice, and
labours in English history, ibid.
Position taken by him at Revolution
of 1830, 16, 17. His career down to
1848, 17. In ill-favour with French
Republicans, ibid. Resumes his story
of the English Republic, 17, 18. His
estimate of the English Republicans
and their efibrts, 18, 19. His view
of the relationship between Cromwell
and Milton, 20. His opinion of Mil-
ton as a statesman, ibid : and of the
Commonwealth statesmen generally,
21. Underrates Cromwell's ruling
impulses, 28. Religious element of
the Revolution imperfectly recog-
nised by him, 29. His estimate of
the mission of the Cromwellians,
29 — 31. His interpretation of Crom-
well's use of scriptural phrases, 31,
32. 33. 35. Stories of Cromwell too
readily credited by him, 38. Details
of Cromwell's foreign policy given
by him, 39. His comment on Ma-
zarin's dealings with Cromwell, 41,
42 and notes. His view of Crom-
well's foreign policy, 44 and note. 46.
On the failure of the Protectorate
and its Parliaments, 48, 49. On
Cromwell's encouragement of litera-
ture and its professors, 50. His belief
in Cromwell's infidelity to his wife,
51, 52. His error relative to the son
mourned by Cromwell, 54.
Halipax, Charles Montagu, Earl of,
82. 84. His service to Addison, 113.
Passages from De Foe's letters to
him, 111. 113. S^vift's remark on
his encouragement of literature,
216. Value of his dinners, ibid.
Smith's play dedicated to him, 219
note. A neighbour of Steele's, 221.
See 215. 222. 227. 232. 233.
Halifax, Geo. Montagu, Earl of, Secre-
tary of State to Geo. Ill, 300. Gray's
humorous allusion to him, ibid.
Halifax, Geo. Savile, Marquis of, 76.
476
INDEX.
Trenchant remark of William III
to, 82. On Bishop Burnet, 339.
Hampden, John, 25. 26. 261.
Hampden, son of the above, 70.
Hanmer, Sir Thos. Prior's letter to,
219 note,
Hannay, James, 329. Character of
his Satire and Satirists, 330.
Harcourt, Sir Simon, high-handed
doctrine of, 100. De Foe's comment
on his arguments, 100, 101 notes.
A friend of Pope's, 103 note. Great
Seal confeiTed on him, 132.
Harcourt, Lord, Viceroy of Ireland, 443.
Hurley, Robert, afterwards Earl of Ox-
ford, 71 note. No orator, 92. Source
of his influence in the House of
Commons, 92, 93. His muffled friend
in the lobby, 93. Themistocles, ibid.
Ee-elected Speaker, 96. Not always
able to manage the Commons, 99.
Appointed Home Secretary, 110. In-
carnation of the spirit of the Revo-
lution, ibid. Peculiarities of his
character, 110, 111. His dancing-
master's remark. 111. His faith in
parliament and the press, ibid. De
Poe's reply to his ofi'er of help. 111,
112. His wariness in his dealings
with men, 113. Introduces De Foe
to Queen Anne, 113, 114. His fa-
miliarities with Swift, 114. Closeted
"with De Foe, ibid. Their discussions,
115. Consequences of the discovery
of his midnight conferences with the
queen, 125. His definition of Sache-
verell's vituperative sermon, 130.
Sees his opportunity, 131. 233. Ga-
zetted Lord Treasurer, 132. Terms
on which De Foe supported his mi-
nistry, 133. Sent to the Tower, 141,
242. De Foe's last word for him,
ibid. AVhy he gave Steele the Ga-
zetteership, 169. Why he dismissed
him, ibid, note. Period of the gift
and of his own retirement from office,
218, 219. His relation towards Steele
on regaining power, 234, 235 and
note. His oratory missed, 244. Steele's
conduct to him in his adversity, 245.
Harness, Miss, family memoranda
jotted down by, 341 note.
Harrington, James, Republican states-
man, 21.
Haselrig, Sir Arthur, Cromwell's
letter to, 37.
tBastings, Warren, 262. Wilkes's in-
centive for defending him, 263.
Havard, William, the actor, Churchill's
portrait of, 275. Mock sympathy
for him, 276.
Hymn to Victory.
Haversham, Lord, rebuked by De Foe,
94, 95. 117, 118.
Hawkins, Sir John, opinion of John-
son repoi'ted by, 344 note.
Hazlitt, William, 186. 445.
Henley, Anthony, 227.
Henley, Orator, satirized by Foote,
363.
Henrietta Maria and " these infamous
traitors," 19.
Hertford, Francis, Lord, Lord Chamber-
lain ; guided by Walpole on theatrical
matters, 437. His conduct in the
Foote and Duchess of Kingston busi-
ness, 452 — 454. Foote' s joke on his
refusal of a licence, 452 note.
Hifternan, the actor, why discharged
by Foote, 441 note.
Hill, Abigail ; see Ilasham.
Hitch, Rev. Mr., why turned out of
Ely Cathedral by Cromwell, 35.
Hoadly, Benjamin, Foote' s commend-
ation of a comedy by, 351 note.
Hoadly, Dr. Bishop of Bangor, anec-
dotes of Steele related by, 248. 249.
Hoadly, Dr. John, 457.
Hobbes, Thomas, secretaryship offered
by Cromwell to, 50. His w^ritings
anathematised, 66.
Hogarth, William, 277. Cause of
Churchill's satire upon him, 302.
Open war between them, 302, 303
notes. Publication of Churchill's
Epistle to him, 303. Weak points in
his character seized on by Churchill,
303, 304. Churchill's eulogium on
his genius, 304. Contemporary
opinion of the satire, 305. His pic-
torial retort on Churchill and Wilkes,
ibid. Suppression of Churchill's
meditated rejoinder, 305, 306. Effect
of the satire upon him, 306. His
approaching end, 323. Foote's com-
pliment to him, 378 note.
Holcroft, Thomas ; source of plot of
his Deserted Daughter, 406.
Holland, Henry, Lox-d, anecdotes of
Foote related by, 395 note. 406 note.
Howe, John, bribed to silence by Sir
S. Fox, 137 note.
Hughes, John, comfortably provided
for, 141. His projected j?<'y««/t'r, 164.
Hume, David, epithet bestowed on
Cromwell by, 1.
Hunt, Leigh, 186.
Hurd, Dr. and Steele, 186. 188.
Hutchinson, Colonel, i-epublican states-
man, 21.
Eymn to the Fillory, by De Foe, 102,
103.
Hymn to Victory, by De Foe, 112.
INDEX.
477
Ince.
IxCE, !Mr., and his contribution to the
Spectator, 186.
Independence^ by Churchill, 322.
Jackson, the Duchess of Kingston's
scribe, 454. Dr. Viper in Foote's
Capuchin, 458. Convicted of libel-
ling Foote, 459. Horrible revenge
attempted by him, ibid.
James II, accession of, 66. How
greeted by churchmen and lawyers,
66, 67. Etis dispensing power affirm-
ed, 68. His object in favouring the
Dissenters, 68, 69. Prior's sneer, 84.
Jealous JFife, The, 237.
Jeffreys, Judge, 67.
Jephson, Capt. R., "superior to Beau-
mont and Fletcher," 446. Foote's
sarcastic estimate of him, 446,447.
Jewel, Foote's treasurer, 445, 446.
Saves Foote's life, 446. Evidence
of his esteem for Foote, 462.
Johnson, Charles, anecdote related of
Churchill by, 309.
Johnson, Dr. Samuel, Steele's charac-
teristics noted by, 171. His reply
to Murphy, 186. His authority
for certain anecdotes of Steele,
249. His sentence on Dr. Birch,
256. " Manly Johnson," 281 note.
His appreciation of Wilkes, 285.
Churchill's Pomposo, 290. A delu-
sion of his day, 299. His crab-tree
simile apropos of Churchill, 316.
His father's dictum on books that
would sell, 320. On Foote's pecu-
liar powers and practices, 332. 338.
373. Case which he wished Foote
I could come " honestly by," 332 note.
Faculty denied bv liim to Foote,
339. His hint to :^Iurphy, 341. On
pleas of insanity, 344 note. His
Garrick bust story of Foote, 370.
Eesult of his resolve not to be
pleased with Foote, 374. The Cock
Lane Ghost threat, 374, 375. His
famous Pitt Speech, and Jacobite
sympathy with a madman, 375. On
hearing of Foote's death, xhid, note.
His Small-beer Story of Foote, 375,
376. How I^Iurphy came to his
notice, 388. Effect of his oak-stick
threat, 416. On Foote's infidelity,
443 note. His club, 446. Why
afraid to go to see Mrs. Rudd, 448
note. On Foote's Chesterfield Letters
Project, 451 . On the fear to die, ihid.
Johnson, Second Master of Westmins-
ter School, 261.
Jongestall, Herr, on Cromwell at
home, 51.
Llox/d.
Jonson, Ben, 222. 316. 322. 357.
Journey from this World to the next.,
by Fielding, 159.
Jure Bivino, by De Foe, 119 and note.
Kelly, Hugh, Foote's retort upon, 336.
Kentish Petition, The, by De Foe, 93.
Kidgell, " dirty dog of a parson," 314.
King, the two Doctors, 258.
Kingston, Eliz. Chudleigh, Duchess
of, 340 note. Her quarrel with
Foote, and its issue, 452 — 457 and
notes. Convicted of bigamy, 457.
Kippis, Dr. notes on Churchill by,
266. 269. 298. On Churchill's con-
duct to his creditors, 283.
Kit-Katt Club, 212. Steele expelled,
233.
Knapp, Mr. H. and Foote, 404.
Kneller, Sir Godfrey, treatment of
Worsdale by, 378.
Knight, Charles, subscription opened
for De Foe's descendant by, 156 note.
Knight, Mr. J. C, bibliographical fact
ascertained by, 346 note.
Knights, The, by Foote, 364. 382.431.
Lamartine, Alph. de, Cromwell's re-
ligious phase misunderstood by, 29.
Lamb, Charles, 186. 330.
Lame Lover, The, by Foote, 429. 431.
433. 435. 437.
Landor, Walter Savage, appeal for De
Foe's gi-eat grandson bv, 156 note.
Legge, Henry Bilson, Chancellor of
Exchequer, dismissed by Bute, 292.
Legion Memorial, The, by De Foe, 93.
Leicester, Lord, a superannuated wit,
329.
Leslie, Charles, of the Rehmrsal, 105.
109. Apparent sole object of his
publication, 119 note.
L'Estrange, Sir Roger, 65. 105.
Lewis, Erasmus, on Steele's Gazetteer-
ship, 169.
Liar, The, by Foote, 409. 411.
Lloyd, Robert, Churchill's schoolfel-
low, 262. Alleged ground of an
intended satire by Churchill in his
defence, 263. His dissipated life
shared by Churchill, 269. Aban-
dons his ushership, ibid. Charged
with the authorship of the Rosciad,
Til. His disclaimer, ibid. His in-
tercession with Churchill solicited
by Garrick, 279. Garrick' s con-
fession to him, 280. Character of
his Ejnstle to C. Churchill, 281 note.
Churchill's Night addressed to him,
284. Thrown into prison, 310.
Churchill's considerate aid, ibid.
478
INDEX.
Lloyd.
Eemembered in Cliurchill's will,
325. Eft'ect of Churchill's death
upon Mm, 326.
Lloyd, Dr. Pierson, usher at "West-
minster School, 261. Churchill a
favourite of his, 262. His gene-
rosity to Churchill, 269. How
Churchill repaid it, 310.
Lockhart, John Gibson, 278.
Long, the miser, satirized in Foote's
Maid of Bath, 435.
Long Parliament, condition of the,
after Charles's execution, 10. What
moved Cromwell to its dissolution,
28. Guizot on contention between
it and Cromwell, 38. Cromwell's
tribute to its memory, 38, 39. Ma-
zarin's movements after ita disso-
lution, 42. Cromwell's course after
that event, 48. Its educational re-
forms carried out by Cromwell, 50.
Louis XIV on Cromwell's position,
46, 47. His reception of Cromwell's
representative, 47 and note.
Louis Philippe and M. Guizot, 16,
Ludlow, Edmund, republican states-
man, 21. 33.
Luttrell's Diary, citations from, 112.
129. 130.
Lying Lover., The, by Steele, 218.410.
Macaulay, Lord, on popular estimate
of Cromwell, 1. His tribute to
William III, 81 note. Exalts
Addison at Steele's expense, 160,
161 . Evidence of the unfoundedness
of his views, 161 — 163. Consti-uction
put by him on Addison's compas-
sionate mention of Steele, 164, 165.
On Steele's alleged profitless Kfe,
166. Wrong with regard to Steele's
Gazetteership, 169. Misrepresents
Steele's aim in starting the Tatler^
170. Proof of his error in this respect,
171. Determined to allow small
merit to Steele, 185. 186. Issue
specifically raised by him, 188, 189.
Close of the appeal from his judg-
ment, 204. A waste of ingenuity on
his part, 250. His misjudgment of
Foote, 333. His illustration antici-
pated by Foote. ibid. A JSineveh
for his New Zealander, 355.
Macauley, Mrs. Catherine, the histo-
rian, ridiculed by Foote, 429. A
glance at her and her history, ibid,
note 2. Present at the burlesque on
herself, 430. Her statue set up :
Foote's joke on her Loose Thoughts,
ibid, note.
Maynwaring.
Mackey's Memoirs of Secret Services,
216.
Macklin, Charles, 265. Foote's jokes
on his lecturing extravagances, 335.
382. 385—387; Supported by Foote
in the Garrick controversy, 350.
Eupture with Garrick, 351. Joined
by Foote at the Haymarket, 352. A
stickler for costume, ibid. His re-
mark on Foote's Othello, 353. Com-
edy written for him by Foote, 381.
His union of taveriikeeper and lec-
turer, 385. Driven into the Gazette,
387. His authorsMp, 446.
Mahon, Lord, no notice taken of De
Foe by, 57. His qualified admira-
tion of Churchill's Prophecy, 295.
Maid of Bath, The, by Foote, 429. 435.
437.
Maidstone, John, on Cromwell's noble-
ness of soul, 38.
Mandeville, the traveller, Mr. Tooke's
charges against, 258.
Mansfield, William Murray, Lord, on
Wilkes's manners and accomplish-
ments, 285. Foote at his table, 373,
374. Foote on Pitt's attack upon
him, 388. Presides at Foote's trial,
460.
Manton, Thomas, persecuted for his
nonconformity, 61.
Marlborough, John Churchill, Duke of,
treachery of, 76. Made Captain-
General, 95. His Blenheim victory,
and De Foe's and Addison's Poems
thereon, 112, 113. Anonjonous note
on his "Nonsense" relative to De
Foe, 116 note 2. Allusion to him
by De Foe, 128 note. Private play
at Blenheim, 249. Character given
of him to Voltaire, 285.
Marlborough, Sarah, Duchess of,
("Mrs. Freeman") impending fall
of. 111. Discovers the Queen's mid-
night conferences, 125. Her self-
congratulations on the occasion, 125,
126.
Marten, Henry, official visit to John
Milton, by, 20. Among the repub-
lican statesmen, 21 .
Marvel, Andrew, 50. 258. 296.
Mary, Queen of William III, and
De Foe, 83.
Masham^ Mrs., afterwards Lady, (nee
Abigail Hill) placed near Queen
Anne, 111. Her midnight confer-
ences discovered, 125.
Mason, William, 426. 453 note. On
Foote's letters to the Duchess of
Kingston, 457.
Maynwaring, Arthur, Steele appointed
INDEX.
479
Mayor of Garrett.
Gazetteer through the influence of,
169 and note. Himself the cause of
Steele's dismissal, ibid. Dedicatee
of Steele's first volume, 171. At
Halifax's dinner table, 232.
Mayor of Garrett, The, by Foote, 420.
421.425.
Mazarin, Cardinal, before the English
Eepublicans, 19. His English cor-
respondents, 22. Invites Cromwell
to France, 40. Attempts to under-
mine De Retz, 40, 41. Makt's ad-
vances to Cromwell, 41, 42. Crom-
well's civil letter to him, 43. No
match for Cromwell, 43, 44. Crom-
well's projects reported to him, 44.
His presents to Cromwell, 43. 45.
His reception of Lord Fauconberg,
47 and note.
Mazarine, Duchess of, 66.
Medmenham Abbey, 287. 288. 300. 302.
Mercator, TJie, bv De Foe, 138.
Miles, Dr. Foote s schoolmaster, 341.
His marvel at Foote' s splendid
menage, 345.
Milles, Dean, ground of Horace "Wal-
pole's anger with, 437.
Milton, John, official visit to, 20. His
relationship with Cromwell, ibid.
Guizot's idea of him, 20, 21. His
" Chief of Men," 27. Continued in
office by Cromwell, 50. His burial
place^ 61 note. 158 note. Reverence
for him revived by Steele, 174.
Minor, The, by Foote, 395. 399. 403.
404. 405. 409. 412.
MoHere's apology for his occasional
violations of dramatic propriety, 364.
Foote a borrower from him, 422.
429andwo^gl. 430.
Moll Flanders, Fortunes and Misfor-
tunes of, by De Foe, 145. 147. 148.
Monmouth, James, Duke of, joined by
De Foe, 67.
Monmouth, Charles Mordaunt, Earl
of, 71 note.
Montagu, Duke of, and the Bottle-
conjuror Hoax, 361.
Montagu, George, a mild describer,
277.
Montagu, Lady Mary, testifies to
Steele's kind nature, 160. On the
increase of poets, 263.
Montague, Wortley, 227. Godfather
to Steele's daughter, 229.
Montecuculi and Cromwell, 47.
Monument of London stolen, 64.
Moore, Thomas, 289. 330. 395 note.
Morland, Sir Sam. and Cromwell, 50.
Morrell, Mr. tired of the Eepublic,
and why, 22.
Kutt.
Morton, Charles, De Foe's school-
master, driven into exile, 60. His
system, 60, 61.
Mossop, the actor, 265. 273. 276. 352.
399.
Mountstuart, Lord, Foote' s veracity
supported bv, 454 and note.
Murphy, Arttur, and Dr. Johnson,
186. His counter satire on Churchill,
281. "Murphy or Durfey," ibid,
note. Anecdotes of Foote picked up
by him, 341. 399. 342. 345. On
Foote' s Bristol Tragedy pamphlet,
347 note. His stage failure, 352.
Anecdote of Garrick, 370. On
Foote' s intercourse with Johnson,
375! On a report of Foote' s execu-
tion in France, 382 note. On Mack-
lin's bankruptcy and Foote' s gains,
387. Commencement of his inti-
macy with Foote, ibid. Foote' s joke
on his Orphan of China, 388. His
complaints against, and uncompli-
mentary sketch of, Foote, 388, 389.
Joined by Foote at Drury Lane,
409. Brings glad tidings to Foote,
461.
Nabob, The, by Foote, 429 435. 437.
438. 439. 443.
Newcastle, Duke of, Steele put into
Parliament by, 243. His meanness
towards Steele, 245. Deprived of
office by Bute, 293. Foote' s bon mot
upon him, 420.
Newgate, De Foe at home in, 103, 104.
See De Foe.
Nichols, head-master of "Westminster
School, 261.
Nichols, John, editor of Steele's
Works, 186. Anecdotes gathered
by him, 237 note. His collection of
poems, 250 note.
Night, by Churchill, 284, 289.
Nonconformists, persecution of, 58, 59.
Relieved by illegal means, 68.
North Briton, first appearance of the,
293. Churchill a contributor, 294.
No. 45, and its consequences, 301.
Hogarth attacked, 302, Ordered to
be burnt, 313.
Northcote's recollections of Weston,
445 note.
Nottingham, Daniel Finch, Earl of,
hunts down De Foe, 99. Resigns
office, 110. Joined by the Whigs,
137.
Nuneham, Lord, Laureat Whitehead's
letters to, 290 note. 422 note.
Nutt, Richard, recollections of Steele
by, 236, 237 note.
480
INDEX.
Oates.
Gates, Titus, 62.
Observator, the ; see Tutchin.
Ode to the Naiads of Fleet Ditch, by
Murphy, 281.
O'Keeffe, John, Foote's advice to, 339.
Eeminiscences of Foote, 444, 446.
Oldfield, Mrs. in Steele's Tender Hus-
band, 214.
Oldmixon, John, on reception of Wil-
liam and Mary at Guildhall, 71 note.
A sneer at De Foe, ibid. Amazed at
lords visiting De Foe, 111. Exalts
De Foe at Swift's expense, 127
note 1. " Oldmixon's rival," 281.
Onslow, Speaker, Sir Simon Harcourt
characterized by, 100.
Orators, The, by Foote, 362. 416. 419.
Ormond, Duke of, 207. 209.
Orphan of China, The, 388.
Othello, character of, why welcome to
a debutant, 352.
Otway's Friendship in Fashion, 368.
Oxford, Earl of ; see Harley,
Palmer the actor, 265.
Papists, excitement against the, 62.
63. 64.
Parker, Archbishop Matthew and
Bishop Samuel, confounded by Mr.
Tooke, 258.
Parliament; see Long Farliament.
Parnell, Thomas, 114.
Partridge, the astrologer, jokes of
Swift and his friends on, 227, 228.
Fatron, The, by Foote, 412. 415. 416.
425.
Pearce, Dr. Zachary, Churchill's
reply to the remonstrances of, 283.
Peer, William, comedian, Steele's
criticisms on the acting of, 243 note.
Pell, John, linguist, and Cromwell, 50.
Penkethman, the player, Steele's mock
cri ticism on, 214 note.
Penn, William, object of visit to Court
by, 68.
Pepys, Samuel, and Lady Castle-
maine's finery, 58.
Perier, Casimir, 17.
Peterborough, Charles Mordaunt, Earl
of, 71 note.
Peters, Rev. Mr. on Cromwell's cha-
racter, 28.
Petty, Sir W. (Irish statist) and
Cromwell, 50.
Fharamond, Romance of, 189.
Philip IV of Spain, 39. His posses-
sions attacked by Cromwell, 46.
Philips, Ambrose, 141. 216.
Fieiy in Pattens, by Foote, 439.
Pitt, William, afterwards Earl of
Chatham, 285. Called a Pretender,
286. Wilkes countenanced by him,
287. Deprived of office by Bute, 292.
People sullen about his dismissal,
293. "Trampling on pensions,"
300. Caricatured by Hogarth, 302.
305. Effect of Grenville's jealousy
of him, 313. Warburton's dedica-
tion caprice, 315. Would have made
a good actor, 369. Where Johnson
wrote his speech, 375. Foote on his
attack upon Murray, 388.
Flague Year, Journal of the, by De
Foe, 145. 147. 148.
Pope, Alexander, 76. His attack on
De Foe, and its probable incentives,
103 note. Saying of Harley reported
by him, 110. Among the wits at
Will's, 126. His seTf-accusing con-
fession relative to De Foe, 145. Fea-
ture in Addison's character noted by
him, 161. On Steele's reverence for
virtue, 166. On Addison's way of
writing, 236 note. Delighted at
Steele's recognition of his genius,
239, 240. Question raised by his
correspondence with Steele, ibid,
notes. On Steele's surrender of lite-
rature for politics, 241. Churchill's
allusion to his friend, 267. His tall
Irishman, 282. Character of him
given to Voltaire, 285. Churchill's
opinion of his versification, 289.
" Pope quite outdone," 294. Line
of his inscribed by Churchill on
Wilkes's portrait, 299. His approtal
of Shylock's red hat, 352. The
carrier of his letters to Curll, 378.
Porson, Richard, at Eton, 404.
Portsmouth, Duchess of, %b, 66.
Postage rates in the days of the Tatler,
230 note.
Powell, the actor, 445.
Pratt, Chief Justice, 302.
Prelude, A, by Foote, 428.
Price, Dr. a resident in De Foe's
house, 149.
Prior, Matthew, proposition of De Foe
revived bv, 76. His sneer at "old
James," S4. How the Whigs lost
him, 114. Ejected from office, 125.
At Halifax's dinners, 216. Going
over from the AVhigs, 219. His sar-
casm on Edmund Smith, ibid, note.
Joins in the Partridge joke, 228.
Abuses Steele in the Examiner,
233.
Pritchard, Mrs. the actress, 265.
Frophecif of Famine, The, by Churchill,
294—298.
Puppet Show, The, by Foote, 438.
Pym, John, 261.
INDEX.
481
QuEENSBURY, Duke of, and De Foe,
123.
Quin, the actor, 265. Churchiirs por-
trait of him, 274. 276. His jokes
compared with Foote's, 337, 338.
His joke on Gan*ick's Othello, 352.
Mimicked by Foore, 360. Eobbed
on the highway, 381.
Rabutin ; see Bussy Rabutin.
Eeade, Charles, The Eighth Com-
mandment of, recommended, 103
note.
Eeed, Isaac, on George Faulkner's
peculiarities, 417.
Rehearsal, The ; see Leslie.
Religious Courtship, by De Foe, 143.
Retz, Cardinal de, and his "horror"
of, and "contempt" for CromAvell,
23, 24. How Cromwell retaliated,
24. His overtures to Cromwell,
40. Mazarin's attempt to discredit
him with the Queen, 40, 41.
Review, The ; see Be Foe.
Reynolds, Sir Joshua, portrait of
Foote by, 355 and note.
Rich, Mr. theatre manager, 360. 372.
Richardson, Samuel, a literary debtor
to De Foe, 148.
Rigby, Mr. Foote's friend, 399. 443.
Robin Hood Debating Society, com-
position of the, 418, 419.
Robinson Crusoe in Bristol, 74 note.
See Be Foe.
Rochester, John Wilmot Earl of, 65.
Rochester, Lawrence Hyde Earl of,
110. 125. 137.
Rogers, Samuel, anecdotes of Foote
preserved by, 369, 370. His Table
Talk, 369 note. 388.
Roman Catholics, innocent, consigned
to the scaffold, 61. See Papists.
Rooke, Admiral, De Foe accused of
Ubelling, 112.
Rosamund, by Addison, 218.
Rosciad, The, by ChurchUl, 256. 270.
271—275. 279. 283.
Ross, the actor, Chiirchill's portrait
of, 273. 276.
Rowe, Nicholas, 141. 173. 219. 228.
Roxana, by De Foe, 145. 147. 148.
Rudd, Mrs., brought on the stage by
Foote, 448 and note, 449.
Russell, Lord Edward, 232.
Russell, AVilKam Lord, judicial mur-
der of, 65. Oxford decree on his
execution, 66.
Ryan, actor, mimicked by Foote, 360.
Sa, Don Pantaleon de, crime and fate
of the brother of, 45.
Sacheverell, Rev. Henry, preaches war
against the Dissenters, 97. 98 note.
His impeachment resolved on, 130.
His appearance in " the Avorst pillory
of the nation," 131. Excitement
and excesses on the occasion, 131,
132. His trial a god-send to the
Tories, 131, 132. 233. And to the
booksellers, 320.
Saint Evremond and William of
Orange, 84.
Saint John, Henry, Lord Bolingbroke,
76. 92. 139. Called to office, 110.
Retires from office, 125. Takes office
under Harley, 132. Driven into
exile, 141. 242. Effect on Grub Street
of his Stamp Act, 239. His place
as an orator unfilled, 244.
Sandwich, John Montagu, Earl of
("Jemmy Twitcher"), 261. In
office, 300. Grav's humorous allu-
sion to him, ibid. Lord Chester-
field's witticism, 301. Moves the
prosecution of Wilkes, 313, 314.
Cause of his expulsion from the
Beefsteak Club, 314. Effect of his
meddling with Wilkes's book, 315.
Puts up for the Cambridge High
Stewardsliip, 321. Churchill's por-
trait of him from the Candidate,
321, 322. His mistress taken off his
hands by Dr. Dodd, 423 note.
Savage, Richard, anecdotes of Steele
told by, 249, 250.
Schomberg, Marshal, Remark of Wil-
liam III to, 71.
Scott, Sir Walter, and De Foe's nar-
rative of Mrs. Veal, 122. His debt,
as a novelist, to De Foe, 148. His
favourite passage in Crabbe, 278.
Harsh judgment of Foote, 332.
Scottish Union, De Foe's services in
connection with the, 123. Its dis-
solution proposed, 137.
Scurlock, Molly, Steele's second wife,
220—227.
Seasonable Caution, A, by DeFoe, 139.
Seeker, Archbishop, complains of
Foote's Minor, 403. Why he de-
clined to correct it, ibid.
Selden, John, and Cromwell, 50.
Selkirk, Alexander, in Bristol, 74 note.
His story told by Steele, 192.
Servien. M., and Cromwell, 40. 41.
Sevigne, Madame de, simile of, 222.
Shadwell, poet laureate, 76.
Shaftesbury's daring boast, 65.
Shakespeare, character of Steele's
criticisms on, 172, 173. 175. Gar-
rick's Shakespeare temple, and
Foote's joke, 371, 372.
I I
482
INDEX.
Sheldon.
Sheldon, Archbishop, treatment of the
Dissenters by, 58.
Sheridan, liichard Brinsley, a borrower
from Steele, 214. His obligations
to Foote, 389. 406.
Sheridan, Thomas, Foote at the
theatre of, 353.
Shortest Way with the Dissenters, by
De Foe, 97—99.
Shi-ewsbury, Charles, Duke of, choice
offered by William III to, 83.
Shuter, Ned, the comedian, 265. Al-
lowed to "compote" with Churchill,
280. Brought out by Foote, 359.
445. Introduces Tate Wilkinson to
Garrick and Foote, 396. His meta-
phor for cash, 440 note.
Singleton, Captain, Life and Firacies
ojf, by De Foe, 145.
Smith, Edmund, Prior's uncompli-
mentary remarks on, 219 note.
Smith, Rev. Sydney, wrong in his sus-
picion relative to Steele's Funeral,
212.
Smith, the actor, 265. Churchill's
portrait of, 273.
Smollett, Tobias, De Foe unnoticed in
the history of, 57. Indebted to De
Foe, 148. At the head of the
Critical Reviewers, 276. Attacked
by Churchill, 277- Seeks Garrick' s
intercession, 279. His patron, 293.
Somers, John, Lord, 65. 82. 92. 93.
Swift's altered feelings regarding
him, 114. Re-enters the Privy
Council, 125. President of Council,
126. Against impeachment of Sache-
verell, 130.
Somerset, Duke of, at the Kit-Katt
Club, 212.
South, Dr., 265.
South Sea Scheme, 245. 246.
Southey, Robert, Cromwell's remorse
as painted by, 2. 3. Story of
Chiirchill discredited by him, 262,
263. His opinion of the influence of
Churchill's style, 289. On Churchill's
illicit love, 306, 307- On Churchill's
motive for money-getting, 317.
Sparks, the actor, Churchill's por-
trait of, 273. 276.
Spectator, remarkable success of the,
239 ; see Addison, Steele.
Speculum Crapegownorum, ^ti note.
Stafford, Marquis of, reconciles Foote
and Garrick, 439 note 2, 440.
Stanhope, General, by Steele's side on
the motion for his expulsion, 242.
Steele, Sir Richard (" Isaac Bicker-
staff"), 76. 109. 126. 141. Lesson
read to him by De Foe, 131 note.
Steele.
His ghost in the Shades, 150. Ma-
caulay's depreciatory estimate of and
allusions to him, 160, 161. 170. 185.
186. 188. His relation towards Ad-
dison, according to Pope, 161. In-
ference deducible from Swift's wav
of speaking of him, 162. Proofs
from his owTi pen, 163. EiToneous
deductions from Addison's compas-
sionate allusion to him, 164. Ma-
caulay's praise of him how qualified,
165. A self-dra^vn sketch, ibid, note.
What he says of self-love, 166. Con-
temporary testimony to his cha-
racter, ibid. Not to be judged by
the measure of others, 167. His
own argument on this theme, 167,
168. Inquisitorial nature of the
tests applied to him, 168. His ap-
pointment as Gazetteer to whom due,
169. Cause of his loss of that ofiice,
ibid, note. His aim in originating
the Tatler, 170, 171. How he con-
ducted it prior to Addison's joining
him, 171. Superiority of his Shake-
speare criticisms, 172, 173. The
first to resuscitate Milton's claims to
reverence, 174. His chivalrous re-
gard for woman and claim for better
education for her, 174, 175. His
felicity in the delineation of cha-
racter, 176 — 178. Shown to be equal
to his self-allotted task, 179. Ease
with which he moralized on trifles,
ibid. Province in which he pecu-
liarly excelled, 180. Foundation of
his theory and views of life, 180 —
182. Illustration of his theory, 181
note. On the desire to be other thaii
what we are, 182, 183. His remarks
on college life, 184, 185. His early
fame as a wit, 186. His position in
the esteem of Lamb, Hazlitt, and
Leigh Hunt, ibid. His self-depre-
ciating affection for Addison, 187,
188. Examples of his contributions
to the Tatler : Joys and Sorrows of
an English home, 189—192. The
Dream, 193. On untimely deaths,
193, 194. His character of Addison
as Ignotus, 194. On toleration of
one another's faults, ibid. His por-
traiture of the Trumpet Club, 195.
Easy friends, 195, 196. On that
" affection of the mind called pride,"
196, 197. Condemnation of the nil
admirari : professed wags, 197. On
the love of praise and sensibility to
reproach, 197, 198. Tom Spindle,
198. On false views of education,
ibid, and notes. On the ridicule of
INDEX.
483
Steele.
married life on the stage, 199. Jenny
Distaff: the cobbler of Ludgate Hill
and his device, 200. His plea for
authors, 201. His picture of a
private soldier and his letter, 202,
203. His contrast of human customs
with nature's laws, and reflections
thereon, 203, 204. His first sense
of sorrow: his father's coffin, 204,
205. His birth and parentage : po-
sition of his father, 205. Addison
his schoolfellow, ibid. His early
habit of looking i<p to him, 205, 206.
His reverence for Addison's father,
206. His career at Merton: his
burnt comedy, ibid. "Why disin-
herited by a rich relative, 207. His
army experiences and their literary
fruit, ibid. Character of his Chris-
tian Hero, 207—210. Exemplifica-
tion of the spirit in which he wTote
it, 208, 209 notes. Indications of the
future Tatler, 210, 21 1 . Earns Con-
greve' s friendship, 211. Production
of his Funeral, or Grief d la Mode,
212. Eesults of its success, ibid.
His name in King William's "last
table-book," 213. His intercourse
with Addison resumed, ibid. His
felicitous criticisms on actors, 213,
214 notes. 243 note. Merits of his
Tender Husband: extent of Ad-
dison's help therein, 214. His ac-
knowledgments to Addison, 215.
His first introduction to Swift, 217.
His comedy damned for its piety,
218. Appointments conferred on
Mm, ibid. His accession of fortune
and his two marriages, 219. Publi-
cation of his letters to his second
wife, ibid. Character and frequency
of those letters, 220. Date of his
second maniage, 221. His town
house and his "hovel," 221. Borrows
money of Addison, ibid. His wife's
retinue and exigencies, 221, 222.
His pecuniary shifts, remittances,
and presents to his wife, 222. Airs
which his " dearest Prue " gave her-
self, 223. Samples of his letters to
her, 223—225. 251, 252. Tone of
her letters to him, 225. Their do-
mestic differences : his reproofs and
her repentance, 226, 227. Shaft's
intimacy with him at this time, 227.
Takes part in the Partridge joke,
228. Compliment paid by him to
Swift, ibid, and note. Execution in
his house : who refused him assist-
ance } 228, 229. Frustration of his
hopes of office, 229. Biith of his
daughter: publication of the first
Tatler, ibid. His secret possibly
kno\yn to Swift, 230. His own
opinion of the cause of its early
popularity, ibid. Gay's report of
the regret caused by its cessation,
231. " Captain Steele the greatest
scholar and best casuist in England,"
ibid. His " unaccovm^table impru-
dence" in declaring against the
Tories, 231, 232. His letter to Swift
on Whig difficulties, 232. Whig
reward for his fidelity, 233. Swift's
Aminadab warning : Prior's abuse,
ibid. Abused by Prior in the Ex-
aminer, ibid. Altered relations be-
tween himself and Swift, 234. Har-
ley's continued kindliness towards
him, 235 and note. The Spectator
started by himself and Addison, 235,
236. His "new fund of wit":
merit due to the two friends, 236.
His share in the Eoger de Coverley
papers, 236, 237. Contrast between
Addison's habits and his : his press
responsibilities, ibid, notes. Enu-
meration of some of his best papers,
237, 238. His paper on Eastcourt's
death, 238 note. "Mighty imper-
■tinent in his Spectators," 239. Close
of the Spectator and publication of
the Gnardian, ibid. Enlists Pope
under his banner, 239, 240 and notes.
His generous language towards Swift,
240. Ground taken by him in their
quarrel, ibid. Sacrifices made by
him to principle, 241. Cause of
motion for his expulsion from the
House of Commons, 241, 242. His
defence: Lord Finch's champion-
ship of his cause, 242. Honours and
office conferred upon him, ibid. Ap-
pointed supervisor of Drury Lane
Theatre, 242, 243. Cause of the
players' gratitude to him, 243 and
notes. His re-entry into Parliament
and position taken by him there,
243, 244. His description of the
House, 244. No friend to high
church pretensions, ibid, and note.
Motives which governed his political
actions, 245. Ever an advocate for
the unfortunate, ibid. Right in his
opposition to the Peerage Bill, 245.
252. Mystifies Whiston as to his
conduct on the South Sea question,
246. Whig ingratitude exemplified
in the foi-m of an apologue, 247, 248.
Main cause of his successive di-
lemmas, 248. Anecdotes related of
Mm by Bishop Hoadly, 248, 249.
484
INDEX.
Steele.
Stories told of him by Savage, 249.
Probable version of the story of
Addison's enforcement of his bond
against him, 250. Named Commis-
sioner of Scotch Estates, 251. His
playful reports of the goings on of
his girls and boys, ibid. Death of
his wife, 252. Production and suc-
cess of his Constant Lovers^ ibid.
His later projects: Addison's sneer
at his "stagnated pool," 252, 253.
D elights of his retirement : his de ath ,
253. The Grecian Coffee-house,
344. His playhouse apophthegm,
ibid. Foundation of his Lying Lover.,
410.
Stephen, Sir James, 401.
Sterne, Laurence, 148.
Stormont, Lord, Foote's joke upon, 336.
Sunderland, Charles, Earl of, 92. 95.
125, 130. 215. 222. 224. 245.
Surrey, Lord, the poet, 260.
Swift, Jonathan, and his catalogue of
Things that Ought to have Succeeded,
57> De Foe's reply to his attack upon
him, 60 note. Amanuensis to Temple,
76, 84. Steals a project of De Foe's,
76, 77. King William's lesson to
him, 85. His pamphlet, 93. Makes
merry over High Church excesses,
96. Harley chary of carrying him
to the palace, 114. Familiarity of
his footing with Harley, ibid. Among
the wits at Will's, 126. His un-
Avorthy sneer at De Foe, 126, 127
note. De Foe on his vituperation of
Steele, 131 note. Lampoons Godol-
phin : improves his acquaintance
with Harley, 132. His dissimulation
to Steele, 134, De Foe's reply to his
personalities, 134, 135. His literary
debt to De Foe, 148. His vitupera-
tions of Steele, 162. Addison's al-
leged scorn for Steele not counten-
anced by him, ibid. His grim re-
mark on Halifax, 216. His appear-
ance at St. James's Coffee House,
216. His weather colloquy, 216,
217. First introduction of Steele and
Addison to him, 217. Charles Fox's
theory about him, ibid. His "trium-
virate" astronomically figured, 217,
218. His probable sentiments con-
cerning Rosamund and the Lying
Lover, 218. The " mad parson," 219.
Period of his greatest intimacv with
Addison and Steele, 227. His famous
Bickerstaff joke upon Partridge the
astrologer, 227, 228. Merit ascribed
to him by Steele, 228 and note. His
letters worth paying postage for, 230
TicMl.
note. Dinner-table praise reported
to him, 232. Humour of his papers
in the Tatler., ibid., note. His Amin-
adab warning to Steele, 233. Affects
surprise at Steele's suspicions, 233,
234. On what made Steele com-
panionable, 234. Effect of political
ruptures on their friendship, ibid.
235. On Steele's "mighty" imper-
tinence, 239. Break out of his quarrel
with Steele, 240. Point at issue
between them, 240, 241. His "un-
derwriter," 241. His simile of the
spider, 295. On the fleeting repu-
tation of wits, 329. Effect of his
Tale of a Tub on his own fame, 330.
His correspondent Faulkner, 416.
Sydnev Algernon, republican states-
man, 21. 65. 79.
Table Talk, by Cowper, 262.
Tailors, The (author never known), a
tragedy for warm weather, 428 and
note.
Tale of a Tub, by Swift, 219. 330.
Talfourd, Serjeant, illustration of
copy-wrong oy, 155 note.
Taste, by Foote, 362. 377. 378. 381.
382. 406.
Tate and Brady, 76.
Tatham, Mr., portrait of Churchill
presented by, 305.
Tatler, first appearance of the, 229;
see Steele.
Taylor, Jeremy, 50. 265.
Tea, an entertainment by Foote, 360.
382. 398. 399.
Temple, Lord, 259. Deprived of office
by Bute, 292, 293. " Sacrificing a
brother," 300. Caricatured by Ho-
garth, 302. 305. Why expelled from
hia Lord Lieutenancy, 314.
Temple, Sir William, 84. On the
perishable fame of a wit, 329.
Tender Husband, The, by Steele, 189.
214.
Teniers, David, friendship of William
of Orange for, 104.
Tennent, Sir James E., stoiy I'elated
by, 149, 150 notes.
Thackeray, AV. M., 329, 330.
Thomas, Sir Dalby, 78 note.
Thornton, Bonnell, 262. AUeged
intended satire against him by
Churchill, 262, 263. His success in
literature, 268. Out of town with
Colman and Churchill, 310.
Thrale, Mrs., 285. 375.
Thurloe, John, 47.
Tickell, Thomas, appointed Irish Secre-
tary, 141. His allusion to Steele,
INDEX.
485
Times.
159, 160. Salutes Addison in a
poem, 218. On the Spectator papers,
236 note. Faulkner's characteristic
letter to his son, 447.
Times, The, by Churchill, 322.
Tonson, Jacob, at the Kit-Katt Club,
212. Discounts Steele's bill, 222.
Tooke, William, editor of Churchill's
poems, bad example set by, 255, 256.
Provocation given by him for strin-
gent remarks, 255 note. Character
of his criticisms, 256. Examples of
his blunders, 257—259. 261. His
contempt for Wordsworth and Cole-
ridge, 259, 260. His grammatical
slips, 260. His theory of Churchill's
life, 267, 268. His singular praise
of Churchill's PropJwaj, 297, 298.
One more piece of criticism, 322.
Tooke, Home, satirized by Foote, 435.
Tories, origin of the, 62." See Whigs
and Tories.
Townshend, Lord, 443.
Translations, weak point in CopjTight
Law relative to, 13.
Trip to Calais, The, by Foote, 452.
Trucborn Englishman, The, by De
Foe, 88—90.
Tutchin, John, of the Observator, De
Foe's reply to, 60. His Foreigners,
88. Satirized by Pope, 103 note.
His death, 130. See 105. 109.
Uniformity, Act of, 58.
Union, History of the, by De Foe, 124.
Usher, Archbishop, and Cromwell, 50.
Vanbrl'GH, Sir John, 126. 354. Ori-
ginal of his Miss Jenny, 333.
Yane, Sir Henry, 12. ' His official
visit to Milton, 19, 20. His ad-
ministrative ability, 21. Cardinal
de Retz' s opinion of him, 23. French
mis-spellings of his name, ibid, note.
Carries Cromwell's reply to De Retz,
40. See also 12. 37. 79.
Veil, Sir Thomas de, 363. 391. 402.
Vesey, Mr., why in Garrick's Club,
447.
Victor, Benjamin, version of the Addi-
son bond enforcement, as related by
Steele to, 250.
Vincent, Mrs., the actress, 265.
Voltaire, character given of Marlbo-
rough and Pope to, 285. On fac-
tions, 350.
Voyage round the World, by De Foe,
"Waller, Edmund, 32. His panegyric
on Cromwell, 50 note 2, 51 note.
Warburton.
"VValpole, Horace, on the liberty of the
press, 294. On the figure which his
own time would cut in the eyes of
posterity, 299, 300. His comment
on the patriots of his day, 300. His
satirical allusion to ChurchiU's il-
licit amour, 306. Anecdote related
by him of Churchill, 313. Admits
Churchill's merits, 318. On the
fleeting reputation of jokers, 329.
On Foote's hold upon the town, 331.
A Nineveh for his New York Tra-
veller, 355. His scandalous story of
Foote, and comments on the Delaval
private theatricals, 376 note. Be-
friends Jemmy Worsdale, 378. On
Foote' s Cadwallader and Kitty Clive' s
Beckv, 384. His suggestion for put-
ting '■do\sTi Whitfield, 401. On the
success of Foote's Minor, 403. On
Charles Fox's ventures in match-
making, 424. At the performance
of Foote's Devil on Two Sticks, 430.
Eulogizes Mrs. Macauley's History,
ibid, note. His advice sought on
dramatic proprieties, 437. "Why and
how he freed himself from the So-
ciety of Antiquaries, 437, 438. On
reconciliation between Garrick and
Foote, 439 note. On cause of mer-
cantile failures, 441. His extrava-
gant opinion of Jephson, 446. On
Mrs. Rudd's malpractices, 448 note.
On Foote and the Duchess of King-
ston, 452 note. 453 note. 457.
Walpole, Robert, 90. Enters Queen
Anne's ministry, 125. Will not
join Harley, 132. At Steele's side
on the motion for his expulsion, 242.
Question on which Steele opposed
him, 245. Steele indebted to him
for re-appointment to Drury Lane,
ibid. Object of the strange things
he did with the House of Commons,
286, How he used the expedient of
expulsion, 314.
Walters, Lucy, Monmouth's mother,
67.
Walton, Dr. Bryan, privilege granted
•by Cromwell \o, 50 note 1.
Warburton, William, Bishop of Glou-
cester, Churchill's apostrophe to,
267 note. " Surprised at the excel-
lent things" in the Rosciad, 280.
Churchill's severe portrait of him,
291, 292. Why he begged pardon
of the devil, 314. Churchill's dedi-
cation to him, 323. Scandal uttered
by him of Churchill, 325. Foote's
" Warburton on Shakespeare" joke,
426 note.
486
INDEX.
Ward.
"Ward, Ned, on De Foe's exposure in
the pillory, 103.
Warren,. Sir George, robbed of his
diamond star, 461.
Warton, Dr. Joseph, on Addison's
niceties in printing, 236 note.
Warwick, Sir Philip, on change in
Cromwell's demeanour, 28.
Watkins, Mark, and De Foe and
Alexander Selkirk, 74 note.
Wedderbume, Lord Loughborough,
Churchill's portrait of, 272. Foote's
joke on his dulness, 375.
Welsted, Leonard, service rendered
by Steele to, 213 note.
Weston, Thomas, comedian, 415. 445.
His remarkable powers, ibid, note.
Foote's last look at his portrait, 462.
Wharton, Thomas, Lord, 96. Opposes
Harley, 125, Viceroy of Ireland,
126. 229.
Wharton, Eev. Mr., remarkable refe-
rence to Cromwell by, 55.
What if the Fretender should come ?
by De Foe, 139.
What if the Queen should die ? by De
Foe, 139.
Whigs and Tories, origin of, 62. King
William's notion of the tAvo, 82.
The Whigs least opposed to him, 82,
83. Tories the best orators, 92.
Whiston, W., Steele's retort on, 246.
White, Gilbert, of Selbome, recollec-
tions of Collins by, 349 note.
White's Club, Foote's joke at, 335.
Whitehead, William, Poet Laureat,
290. His comments on Churchill's
attacks upon him, ibid, note. On
Foote's Mayor of Garrett, 421. His
silly adulation of Garrick, 439.
Whitelocke, Bulstrode, a witness to
Cromwell's self-denial, 36, 37. Sent
on an embassy to Sweden, 44. On
Cromwell's amusements, 51.
Wliitfield, Rev. George, extravagan-
cies of, 400. 401. Opinion enter-
tained of him by some of his con-
temporaries, 401. Ridiculed by
Foote, 402. 405.
Wilkes, John, 90. 258. 261. 266. In-
centive to his defence of Hastings,
263. " Gay Wilkes," 284. Charac-
ter of his intimacy with Churchill,
284, 285. Fascinating effects of Ms
manners, 285. A day at hand for
him, 286. His requisites for the
part played by him, 286, 287. Tenns
of compromise offered by him to
the Government, 287. Effect on
Churchill of his intercourse with
him, ibid. Excuse for satirizing his
William III.
renegade associates, 287, 288. His
North Briton issued, 293. His ex-
periments on the liberty of the
press, 294. Realization of his pro-
phecy, ibid. Line inscribed by
Churchill under his portrait, 299.
"Spotless as Sallust," 300. Lord
Chesterfield's witticism on him, ibid.
Warrant issued for his arrest, 301.
His account of the execution of it,
and how he saved Churchill, 301,
302. Caricatured by Hogarth, 302.
305. His and Churchill's revenge,
302. " Mr. John Orestes," 306. His
prosecution moved for by Lord Sand-
wich, 313. Sandwich his fellow-
sinner, 314. Supported by the
people, 315. Driven to France, ibid.
Visited by Churchill, 324. His
emotions at Churchill's illness, ibid.
Churchill's literary executor, 325.
Upshot of his regrets for Churchill,
326, 327.
Wilkinson, Tate, on Foote's powers of
pleasing, 331. Othello played by
him, 352. Untoward fate of his
father, 396. His own introduction
to the stage, ibid. His recollections
and mimickry of Foote, 396. 398.
Character of his Memoirs, 397.
Cause of his dissatisfaction wath
Foote, 399. On Foote's Minor, 402,
403. Taken off in Foote's Sam
Shift, 407, 408. See 428 note. 443.
445.
Wilks, Robert, the player, Steele's
criticism on, 213, 214 notes. His
acting in Steele's Tender Husband,
214. Puts Savage's Comedy on the
stage, 249.
Wniiam III visits England, 65. Wel-
comed by De Foe, 70. Terms on
which he would be king, 71- De
Foe's life-long reverence for him,
71, 72. 95. His detractors rebuked
by De Foe, 80, 81. His claun to
national gratitude : services ren-
dered by him, 81, 82. His notion
of Whigs and Tories, 82. The
Whigs his best friends, 82, 83.
Choice offered by him to the Duke
of Shrewsbury, 83. His meeting
with De Foe, ibid. Parallel be-
tween the two, 83, 84. Cold com-
fort from Temple, 84, 85. His emo-
tion on the dismissal of his Guards,
88. How he appreciated De Foe's
championship, 90. Object of Ids
last consultation with De Foe, 93,
94 and notes. His death, and De
Foe's poem thereon, 94. Warm
INDEX.
487
Williams.
friend to Teniers and De Foe, 104.
De Foe's satire against his oppo-
nents, Ho note. Steele in Ms " last
table-book," 213.
Williams, Sir Charles Hanbury, 289.
Will's Coffee House and its wits, 126.
Wilson, Walter, De Foe's biographer,
73. 74 note. 149 note. 158 note.
Wits, fleeting reputation of, 329.
Woftington, Peg, 354. 382.
Woodward, the actor, 265. Mimicked
by Foote, 360. His projected bur-
lesque of Foote, 367, 368. Result
of the experiment, 368. His cater-
wauling, 399. Get homme Id est Men
charlatan., 441 note.
Zoffamj.
Wordsworth, William, Mr. Tooke's
utter contempt for, 259, 260.
Worsdale, James, painter and actor,
befriended by Foote, 378.
Yates, the tragedian, 265. Churchill's
portrait of him, 273. His make-
believe at the Rose Tavern, 280, 281.
Mrs. Yates, 388.
Young, Edward, on Steele's character,
166.
York, Duke of, and Foote, 426. 427.
ZoFFANY, theatrical pictures by, 430.
I BEG to repeat my thanks to Mr. Henry Campkin, to whose skill I was
indebted for excellent Indexes to the Grand Remonstrance, and Arrest of the
Five ^[embers., for the care and knowledge with which the Index to the present
Volume has been compiled.
J. F.
THE END.
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITKfRIARS.
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